


The Road To You

by mansikka



Series: The Road To You [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Malex, Mentions of past abuse, Pining, Road Trips, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, discussions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2020-07-25 21:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 143,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20032474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Michael’s relief at tracking down Alex when he leaves town without warning is short-lived when he realizes he can’t persuade him to come home. He won’t go back to Roswell without him; what choice does he have but to follow Alex wherever he might go? In a road trip that takes them halfway across the country, can Michael and Alex find their way back to one another as well as whatever it is that Alex is searching for?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   

> 
> **Update! We now have our rating, tags, summary, and title thanks to the last survey!**
> 
> Hello :)
> 
> So this is a Choose Your Own story, where you get to vote on choices that help to shape it. 
> 
> This is a canon-divergent story set around the time of the season one finale. Parts of what happened canonically did happen in this story, and other parts did not; your choices on the initial survey decided some of those things! Which means Max is alive and Rosa didn't come back.
> 
> This is also a very _me_ story, in that I have a constant need to get Michael and Alex out of Roswell. Whether they stay out, head back, or do some dance in between might be decided by you with the surveys.
> 
> What else to tell you?
> 
> Surveys will be posted at the end of each chapter, and the results posted on Tumblr. If you want to follow the posts for this story then head over to [Tumblr](https://mansikkaomenabanaani.tumblr.com/tagged/CYOMX) now!
> 
> Warnings in advance. At this stage, this fic is untagged and unrated. Towards the end of the story you will get to suggest titles and tags which will then be voted on along with a summary. I have no idea what kind of content this story is going to have yet so please read at your own risk. I will mark chapters with warnings if they're really necessary.
> 
> Okay, that's everything for now! Happy reading!

There is nothing he has ever done to Alex that has been more cruel.

In all the years they've known each other, all the times they've said or done things intended to hurt, Michael knows he's never done anything this vindictive. They have left each other, yelled and accused and wounded one another over and over with their words. Never once has either of them purposefully gone to someone else; until now.

Between Caulfield, and Noah, and the fallout of everything in between, it is only now Michael has found the space in himself to start _thinking_. These past few days he's lived on autopilot, rage fuelling every decision made and every direction taken. The pain he's suffered for watching his family been blown to pieces so intrinsically tied to _Alex_ that he couldn't separate the two.

It isn't even just that he let himself fantasize about a simple life with Maria. It's the way he did it, the deception of it that counts. He and Alex, no matter where they have been in their dance of loving and hurting one another, they have been _honest_. They don't have any choice in that. Alex can read Michael's thoughts as easily as he can read Alex's, speaking volumes without saying a word out loud. Alex coming to him really ready to _talk_; Michael should have listened, should have pushed past the fog of his pain at losing the only family he's ever had. Even if he keeps telling himself he couldn't because they were in the middle of dealing with Noah and didn't have the time to talk.

_Alex_, Michael thinks, pausing from his latest attempt to fix the car in front of him and letting his body sag against it, Alex was right, he _is_ his family. Sure, he has Isobel, who he's spent so much time checking up on the last few days she must be sick of the sight of him. And yes, of course, he has Max, who is currently recovering a failed attempt to raise Rosa under the constant care of Liz. But Alex _is_ his family, as well as his constant, and his home. Even when he's tried not to be. Even all the times he's walked away, breaking Michael's heart in the process. Michael has always known Alex will come back. Though maybe not this time, not after what he's done.

Michael drops to rest his forearms on the car picturing Alex waiting outside his Airstream like he'd told him to, knowing he'd have waited as long as it took for him to find his way home. He _aches_ for Alex, loathing himself for his decisions, knowing walking away the moment Alex was finally ready to open up is an irreparable wrong. He's played it over, come up with every other way things could have gone and can't shake the anger he feels at himself, no matter that he was only lashing out for how badly he was hurting. Michael _loves_ Alex, always has and always will. Who was he kidding thinking he could be truly happy with anyone else?

It hits Michael then, missing Alex so much he feels like he can't breathe. Michael curses at the engine he is trying to fix for not doing what it's supposed to do. For not being an easy puzzle to solve that he can fix with his hands and use to forget about everything else for a while. Michael gives up on trying, narrowing his eyes picturing the mechanics, all the parts that should move together in an easy fit, and fixing the fault with his mind.

The engine revs to life giving Michael no satisfaction. And while he can hear the telltale sound of a car approaching knowing someone else is likely coming to the scrapyard looking for help, Michael knows that won't provide enough distraction either. He steps away from the now-working engine cleaning the oil from his hands with an already dirty rag, sticking his head under the hood of an older car he's toyed with putting back together just for something to do. Maybe whoever wants help will take the hint and go away when he doesn't look up.

"There you are. Been looking for you."

Michael looks up to find Kyle scowling at him, bumping his hands in fists against the side of the car in protest at being interrupted and ready to lash out. He doesn't want to see _anybody_. There is no one that can fix his wrong but him, and Michael has no idea how he's supposed to deal with any of it. The last thing he needs is _people_ around. "I don't have time for this."

"You'll make time."

"Right—"

"You'll _make_ time," Kyle insists, crowding into his space, "if you ever cared a damn about _Alex_."

Cold coils through Michael's stomach, sending him spinning away from the fury on Kyle's face. He's tried avoiding even thinking of Alex's _name_ since the last time he saw him, even if Alex is _all_ he can think of. So how dare anyone else say his name out loud? Michael keeps picking up his phone, composing messages he'll never send him; when he isn't planning on driving up to Alex's cabin, that is. Like Alex is the only thing he has to think about. Like he didn't just lose his _mom_, see Max almost die, isn't watching the horror unfold in Isobel's eyes as fresh memories of Noah bombard her. How can he be so selfish and spend all this time thinking about the only thing he really wants?

"What about him?" Michael says, curt, and blunt, because this is hard enough as it is. The last person he wants to discuss anything to do with Alex with is _Kyle Valenti_.

"What you've done to him," Kyle seethes, "_you_, and _Maria_. I don't know what the hell she was thinking, but this is on you. Couldn't you just... I don't know. Hook up with someone who _wasn't_ one of his best friends? If you _had_ to?"

"You don't know anything," Michael tells him through gritted teeth. Kyle doesn't. He wasn't there for the conversation he had with Maria. He didn't see the guilt written over both of their faces for the damage they'd worried they'd done.

"You've been running around town rubbing it in his face—"

"Nothing _happened_, Valenti," Michael says, ready to punch him; anything to end Kyle's words. Nothing _has_ happened. Less than half an hour of being with Maria in the Wild Pony playing his music for the first time in years, that dream of a start-over with her was _done_. Both of them knew it wasn't right, that it wouldn't work, that no matter how much they thought they wanted it, their _relationship_ wouldn't go anywhere. There was _care_ between them, but nothing that would endure beyond that. Nothing compared with what he's had with _Alex_ in the moments they've let themselves just _be_ in all of this time. Though what could ever compare with that?

"I saw you in town together—"

"I was fixing a car," Michael yells at him. "Saw her with some bags of stuff. I gave her a ride."

"That's what you're calling it now?" Kyle demands, furious with him. He and Kyle have never got on, but he's never seen him truly angry before.

"Why'd you care so much, anyway?" Michael asks, narrowing his eyes in mistrust.

"Because _Alex_ is a good guy. And _Alex_ happens to be a friend of mine."

"Maybe you should've been more of a friend to him ten years ago."

"Yeah," Kyle agrees, "and maybe so should of you." Which of course cuts through Michael's fury for all the memories he has of _not_ being a good friend to Alex when they were kids. He'd not made things easy for him, and he'd not supported him when he'd had to leave. He'd known it was _Jesse Manes_ who'd forced Alex to sign up, who had whispered in his ear of all the freedoms and possibilities serving would bring him. Yet still Michael had taken it out on Alex. 

"I don't remember asking you for any lecture on morals," Michael says, feigning disinterest with a roll of his eyes that only infuriates Kyle more.

"He sat for hours outside your Airstream waiting for _you_, because for some reason I truly am never going to understand, he thinks you're _worth_ it. And you just _left_ him there. What kind of a bastard move is that, huh?"

"Is there a point to any of this?" Michael demands, because he wants this conversation _over_. He has enough guilt for all that has happened already. That it's _Kyle Valenti_ stood before him making him feel even shittier is an irony Michael doesn't want to think on as hard as he is doing.

"Yeah, Guerin, there _is_."

"Gonna get to it sometime soon?"

Kyle folds his arms across his chest and glares at Michael livid enough to make him stand taller for it so he doesn't stumble backward. "It's Alex."

"What about him?"

"Thanks to _you_, Alex is _gone_."

* * *

This is his worst nightmare. Michael has both feared and experienced Alex leaving him behind in Roswell so many times now that he'd fooled himself into believing he'd be ready for the next time it happened. But he _isn't_, not in the slightest, not at all okay with the idea of Alex being _gone_.

Kyle isn't even making any sense. Alex wouldn't just _leave_; where would he go? He would at least say goodbye if he was going somewhere, wouldn't he? Even after what Michael has done? But as Kyle continues to yell, hurling accusations and truths at him that make Michael want to hit something, all Michael can imagine is Alex disappearing and never seeing him again. Panic settles over Michael's heart leaving him hurling curses back at Kyle, even knowing none of this is his fault. He jumps in his truck still with Kyle shouting at him, flipping him off as he speeds away.

Michael drives to Alex's cabin letting himself in when several knocks on the door rouse no one from inside. The cabin is quiet and still, everything packed away as though Alex has no plans of returning any time soon. The fridge is off at the socket, and when Michael checks he finds the water off at the mains. Alex is _really_ gone, he realizes, his heart thudding painfully as panic rises in him. Michael collapses to Alex's porch watching the sun cross the sky, calling Alex's number repeatedly to find his phone switched off. And cursing himself over and over for what he's done.

He climbs back into his truck and drives aimlessly, barely paying any attention to the road. There is so much for him to think about. Yet all he can do is keep replaying Alex's last words over and over and hating himself all the more. And when he isn't hating himself he's yelling at Alex, for taking off without a single word. Not that he blames him, not that he has any right to think Alex owes him anything like an explanation.

But what if something has happened to him? What if he's gone somewhere intending for a short break to heal from _him_ and been hurt, or lost, or met some kind of trouble on the way? How can he do anything to help him if he doesn't know where Alex has gone? Michael fears for Alex, suffering that same cold hollow ache he's worn for every time Alex has gone back overseas. Alex could be _anywhere_. And yet again Michael is in the dark about where that is.

Does he drink? Michael idles the engine outside the Wild Pony, trying to convince himself to go inside. He doesn't want to face Maria, wants to go back to the simple days when they were friends without even acknowledging they were. What he wouldn't give for their easy banter right now, conversations that didn't have to _mean_ anything at all. They shouldn't have pushed it beyond that, not let a moment of _something_ ruin what had been so good for them.

And of course, they'd hurt Alex in the process, even if this was Alex's doing, really, for saying he and Michael should learn to be _friends_. Michael slams his palm into the steering wheel in frustration at himself for believing a single word of it, knowing there was no way they could be _just friends_ at all. Haven't they tried that, over and over, so many times Alex has come home? It always ends in a need for one another that Michael's never had with anyone else. Never _wanted_ with anyone else. Sex with anyone but Alex has always been little more than stress relief, or something to pass the time.

Sitting here like this, this isn't getting him anywhere. Michael curls in on himself for a wave of missing Alex that he's been pretending he hasn't felt. How he's left it for _days_ to not reach out to Alex after that night, he isn't sure. Or he is, and just doesn't want to acknowledge he's taken his devastation on all that he's lost out on Alex. Even when the whole mess that is Project Shepherd, and Caulfield, and almost losing Max have nothing to do with Alex, not really. Not at all, in fact. Michael lashed out at Alex because it's what they do to one another, and he hates that they do, because he _loves_ Alex. More than he ever wanted to. More than anything he has in his life. Though repeating and replaying everything to himself now is doing absolutely nothing to get Alex back.

Michael finds himself outside Liz's work, unclear why he's seeking solace in her labs. Perhaps it's the orderly fashion of her work, how puzzles are so easily solved through the right sequences and processes. Maybe it's even because he's come to consider Liz almost as a _friend_. He scoffs at the idea even as he climbs out of the truck, though reluctantly admits the truth of it. She even looks pleased to see him; Michael wishes he could bask in the comfort of it but has no time for that.

"Michael, hey—"

"Have you seen Alex?" Michael asks, his eyes taking in the devastation that is still her lab from the fire. He isn't sure what is next for Liz now her work has been destroyed, and knows fresh guilt for not taking the time to ask.

Liz carefully puts down the rack of test tubes she was mid-moving and whips around to face him with concern in her eyes. "No? Why?"

"Kyle says he's _gone_."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"Says he doesn't know," Michael replies. He thinks he believes him. Even if he can't comprehend all that is happening.

"But… why?"

Michael gives her a look that makes her gaze drop. She _knows_. Everybody knows. Michael's skin crawls for the thought of being the Roswell gossip, and dragging Alex into some small town topic of discussion. There are so many other things they both have to deal with now.

"Okay," Liz says, holding her hands up in apology, "stupid question. So… he just took off?"

"Apparently."

"That's not like Alex."

Do any of them really know Alex, or have the right to presume what he would or wouldn't do? Do any of them have the right when Michael feels like none of them have been good friends to him lately. He hates to admit it, but the only person here in Roswell that is close to being Alex's friend, is _Kyle_.

"Yeah, well. Maybe I pushed him too far this time." For all his accusations of Alex always finding excuses to walk away, he really does keep giving him reasons to.

"Maybe we all share some blame in this. But—are you sure?"

Michael watches Liz pick up her phone and dial, knowing she's trying Alex's number. He wants to tell her his phone is already off but also needs to wait to see if she gets through where he couldn't. He watches her look at him then look away when she takes her phone from her ear, quickly typing a message.

"Have you spoken to him the last couple days?"

Liz shakes her head, looking full of guilt. "I tried. I kept leaving messages and sending texts; no answer. Though with everything with Max... maybe I didn't try enough times. I should have."

Michael knows Maria hasn't spoken to Alex either. He knows she hasn't even tried, so full of guilt even if this is not her fault. Kyle is right, this _is_ all on him. He was the one who went to her, knowing those _feelings_ she had for him were fleeting things that would have soon faded, if only he'd left her alone. If he hadn't _used_ her, hoped for an easy option to get over the pain he was feeling. Michael can't even know if going to her wasn't a deliberate act to wound Alex when he was blaming him for what happened with his mom.

"I need to find him."

"Of course, Michael."

Michael looks down for the gentle hand on his arm resisting the urge to yank it away. He doesn't want _anyone_ to touch him, no one else to be near him. What he wants is _Alex_; why couldn't he have told him that days before now?

"How's… how's Max doing?" Michael asks then, hit with another wave of guilt; he has so many people to be thinking about. But his head is so _full_ of Alex.

"He's doing okay," Liz tells him with an understanding smile that only makes him feel worse.

Michael turns on his heel without another word, jumping into his truck and ignoring Liz calling after him. He spins the truck around, tires screeching as he turns. He isn't even sure he knows where Kyle lives for doing his best to block out his existence his whole life. Though he finds himself outside his place anyway, going through another round of internal arguments about why he won't get out of the truck, yet minutes later is pounding on Kyle's door. Kyle glares at him in loathing but steps back to let him in.

"Figured you'd show up when you got your head out your ass."

"He tell you he was going?" Michael knows he's channeling his anger at Kyle now for no good reason, but does nothing to talk himself out of it.

"Nope."

"Then how'd you even know he was gone?"

"Went to see if he was home after everything that happened. When he wasn't, I wanted to check he was okay. First place I thought I'd find him was at _yours_," Kyle adds with a disbelieving burst of laughter that Michael needs no help to interpret. Why would Alex be wasting his time with _him_?

"And then?"

"I figured, I'd drive by yours, make sure his car was out front. Didn't expect to see him sat there staring at a fire and _you_ not being home."

Michael's stomach lurches, the image of Alex waiting for him etched deeper into his mind.

"Convinced him to leave after about an hour. Got no clue how long he'd been waiting. Followed him back to the cabin, stayed to make sure he ate—"

"You think he can't eat by himself?" Michael retorts, seething for the thought of Kyle taking care of Alex in any way. That is for _him_ to do; even if he's done such a terrible job.

"In that state?" Kyle says, with a mocking smile for him. "Hell. I didn't even wanna leave him on his own after seeing _that_ look on his face. I couldn't."

Kyle is taunting him. His choice of words is deliberate; there is no truth to the pictures he is painting for Michael at all. Still, Michael shifts on the spot fighting not to argue with Kyle about what he's telling him. "And then what?"

"I went home. Slept. Went to work. Came back to Alex's with beer and pizza—"

"Why?"

"Why was I being a _friend_?" Kyle says, glowering at him. "I don't know, Michael. I think it's just what friends do for each other, you know? Look out for them, make sure they're okay? I mean how _would_ you know, I guess. Not like you have many friends, is it?"

"Got all the people in my life I need," Michael says, thinking of Max and Isobel. And missing Alex harder still.

"Right. If that's true, then what the hell are _you_ doing _here_?"

"You sure he didn't tell you where he was going? _That_ he was going?" Michael says, walking towards him, infuriated that Kyle doesn't even budge.

"Nope."

"Then how'd you know he'd gone?" Michael repeats, bunching his hands up in fists.

"I went to the bunker. Project Shepherd. Figured he'd be there, throwing himself into work or something. Because of how _guilty_ he felt because of Caulfield. Which, by the way, was _not_ on him."

"I know that."

"Sure didn't act like it back there."

"And so, what?" Michael says, now only a foot or so away from Kyle and Kyle's back almost to a bookshelf, still infuriatingly unfazed. "He wasn't there, so you went to the cabin?"

"Yeah."

"Spend an awful lot of time in that cabin, Kyle."

"You jealous, Guerin?"

"Of _you_?" _Yes_. Michael hadn't realized until Caulfield just how much time Alex and Kyle were spending together. The way they were with one another on the drive over put bile in his throat and venom in his retorts. The second they'd parked up he'd had to get away for how badly he wanted to take a swing at Kyle purely for existing.

Kyle's smile is inviting to be punched off his face. Michael flattens his hands out against his thighs trying to resist the urge. "When he didn't show up in the bunker, and didn't answer his phone, yeah. I went to check on him."

"Let yourself in, did you?"

"Did _you_?"

Michael turns away not trusting himself not to lash out.

"Look," Kyle says, sighing, which puts Michael even more on edge. "This is all pointless. He's still _gone_. I don't know where he would've gone, either."

"He didn't say anything at all?" Michael loathes that his voice comes out so desperately and scowls to try to mask it when he turns back around.

"Nope. I've been going over and over everything we talked about, and, nothing. All I can think of, is he just took off without planning anything—very not-Alex. But he's a mess right now."

Michael scuffs his boot against the floor refusing to break eye contact.

"Or, he was headed somewhere specific. I don't know, Michael; did he mention where his mom might be? Some air force buddies? Old _boyfriend_?" Kyle adds, which carves a hole in Michael's gut. Intentionally.

They've never spoken about _other_ people, he and Alex, not unless it was to get a dig in when riling one another up mid-argument. Though Michael knows he won't sleep tonight for replaying every single conversation they've ever shared, trying to figure out the possibilities of where—or to who—Alex might have gone.

"Hey. Earth to Michael—"

Michael slaps away the snapped fingers in his face, turning on his heel and making his way out.

"Try Blake."

Michael freezes on the spot, not wanting to turn around. Who the hell is _Blake_? "Who?"

"He's some guy Alex mentioned from the base. Maybe the _only_ name he mentioned. I guess if you want to go looking for him, you might as well try there."

Michael tries to make himself move, frozen where he's stood with more unfounded jealousy. Though hearing Kyle's taunting burst of laughter is enough to get him unstuck.

"I just hope it was worth it, Michael. What you did to him, leaving him like that. That you're at _peace_ with what you've done."

Michael throws open Kyle's front door, storming his way out.

* * *

Michael hates this place. He's driven up to the base Alex's been stationed at once or twice for reasons he doesn't really remember now that it's rearing up in his windshield. But bile rises in his throat the closer he gets, fury making him want to unlock the gates and cause hell. He pulls himself back just for the thought of Max's disapproval, rolling his eyes for the _looks_ he would give him for getting in trouble yet again.

What is he expecting to be told here, anyway? He has no reason to be here, no right to even be anywhere near a military base. There is no sense in him being here either, really, given what he is, and the people within this facility who, for all that he knows, had involvement in Project Shepherd too. Michael is aware of the eyes of armed guards following him from the other side of the gate and fights the urge to turn the truck around. He came here for a reason, and he'll see it through no matter what it takes.

Michael shuts off the engine and leaps out putting on his best neutral face, shielding his eyes from the sun. The sound of boots crunching in sand are followed by a series of clicking noises. Michael doesn't have to look for knowing a gun is trained on him. And while he can stop all these bullets in a heartbeat, that isn't what he is here for. He needs to find out where Alex is, and nothing else matters.

"Who's your sponsor?"

Michael swivels for the voice he hears, unsteady for the question and not knowing what to respond with. "My what?"

"You can't just walk up to a base and walk in without a sponsor."

Michael looks the guard over, not hiding his disdain for the _uniform_ he sees. He's never been able to hide his loathing of the military ever since Alex walked away from him for the first time. "Who says I want to be in there, anyway?"

He should be more unnerved for those guns focused more intently on him but isn't, sauntering towards the person calling to him and coming to a stop a few feet away. Michael lets his hands fall wide at his sides and shrugs, as though he doesn't care. When in reality he'd rip this base apart with his bare hands if it meant getting to Alex.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Looking for somebody."

"Somebody who's based here?" the man asks, still looking at Michael in suspicion. The tension in his shoulders lets Michael know he will shoot without hesitation if he doesn't like what he hears.

"Obviously."

"Who?"

"Blake."

If anything, the man looks even more suspicious. "...that's me."

Michael slaps his hands down on his thighs, feigning more of that nonchalance. "Well. Guess I found you. Though who I'm really looking for is Alex Manes."

Blake's eyes narrow, and the lowering of his gun puts Michael more on edge than having it shoved in his face. There is a look that passes between Blake and the others, who stare at Michael for a moment longer then also lower their weapons before walking away.

Blake waits until they're all out of earshot, turning back to scowl at Michael. "So why would you be asking for _me_?"

"I'm not asking for you," Michael retorts, glaring at him. "I'm trying to find _Alex_. And yours is the only name I know from here."

"And you might be?"

What is he supposed to say? Michael thinks about saying something stupid, maybe making up a name so he can't be traced. Though he doesn't, his heart thudding for the look of curiosity on Blake's face the moment _Michael Guerin _is out of his mouth.

"Been half-expecting you."

Coldness seeps through Michael's blood. "You have?"

"Well. Been told to look out for you, anyway."

"By?"

"Manes. Said if anyone comes looking for, to tell them nothing. Except for if it's _you_."

"Honestly? I'm flattered," Michael says, smiling as though it's the easiest thing in the world, when in reality he is sick to his stomach trying to understand what is happening here. He wants to stop _talking_ as well, but his nerves mean that he can't.

"I don't think being listed as someone's _next of kin_ is something to be all that flattered for," Blake tells him, disdain in his voice as he looks Michael over. "Though I guess I don't know much about your life."

It takes Michael longer to think of a witty comeback for the words _next of kin_ to sink in. Though between wondering what the hell Alex would name _him_ that for—and what _next of kin_ duties he might now be about to face—Michael is scared. No longer mad, no longer just missing him, just terrified of what he's about to hear.

"He's… he's okay, though, right?"

"Beats me," Blake says, sighing. "I don't know anyone who'd give up everything they've ever known just to go off on a whim, but then I guess I'm not most people. I'm loyal, for a start."

"You saying Alex isn't _loyal_?" Michael demands, furious on his behalf.

Blake shrugs, folding his hands over the butt of his gun and continuing to stare at him as though studying Michael, which he hates. "Nothing to do with me."

"So—"

"Alex is gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone," Blake agrees, waving their arm back over the base. "Gone as in gone, left, got out of here."

"But where?" Michael asks, a high pitched whistling sound filling his ears for thinking Alex has gone back to his _war_ overseas. He's never wanted Alex to be anywhere near the military, but right now he's begging this stranger to tell him Alex has just moved bases. He can still _get_ to him if he's here, at least.

"Didn't say. Just came in, emptied his locker, signed off on his leave. Gave notice. Gone."

"Wait. Gave _notice_?" Michael's heart hammers faster, shaking his head. Alex? Leave the air force?

"He's leaving. _Left_, really. Owed time for all those years he never took more than a couple of weeks. When he took none at all."

Snatches of memories hit Michael, of Alex returning to Roswell, holed up with Michael somewhere so no one would even know he was home. Then of the inevitable argument that would lead to Alex leaving sooner than he'd intended staying like a well-performed dance, because Alex had to leave anyway, and Michael needed to shield himself against him going. Just how much leave _has_ Alex accumulated over the years?

"You can't mean _leave_ leave?" Michael says, refusing to understand what he's being told, because it just isn't possible.

Blake is getting bored of talking to him and doing nothing to hide it. "Well. Manes came in, did all his separation shit. Had his medicals. Handed in kit and equipment. And now he's _gone_. It's not like he was planning on serving all that much longer, anyway. Everyone knows he's been talking about his _honorable discharge_ for months now, like he was looking forward to it."

Has he? "Just like that?"

"Dude. He's not here. You can't be here. He's not coming _back_ here. I don't know how much plainer I need to make things for you."

"But he said. He told you, that if _I_ came looking, then, what? He didn't leave any messages for me?"

Blake spits in the dirt by his feet and starts to turn away. "I _gave_ you your messages. He said to tell you he was gone, and that you're his next of kin, and that's _it_. You maybe want me to give you it in Spanish too? Draw you a picture?"

Michael opens his mouth to say more but Blake already has his back to him. He throws himself into his truck and drives away, speeding towards the Airstream. Though as he drives he feels his phone vibrate, leaning to pull it from his pocket.

"_You tell him I said hi if you find him_," Kyle's message reads; Michael is too angry to even question how Kyle has his number.

_"When,"_ Michael growls under his breath, too tense to think on why Kyle already knows he's going after Alex before he's consciously decided to himself. Michael speeds up willing the truck to go even faster, desperate to be back at the Airstream already. He has bags to pack and miles to cover, and no idea where to go.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Michael can see the Airstream in the distance when his stomach gives a lurch and tells him to turn around. Dust from the desert whips up around him as he spins the truck, tires screeching in protest in his haste to be doing _something_.

For Michael's second visit to Alex's cabin in his absence he is far more nervous than the first, half-hoping he'll find Alex waiting with a scowl for him intruding when he'd only gone out for groceries or something. He looks around the place Alex has made his home deciding that it _feels_ like Alex, and wants to soak up the sense of him for a while before he moves on. But he won't. Reluctant but not knowing where else to start for any ideas to tell him where Alex might have gone, Michael looks for Alex's bedroom, taking in the neatly made bed and clear surfaces and wishing he'd spent more time in this room than he has. He tries not to think about the single night he shared with Alex here, that one perfect few hours when they both forgot there was a world beyond Alex's door.

Because everything is so tidy, there is nothing for Michael to search through. Though he looks anyway, wincing as he opens nightstand drawers, guiltily glancing over clothes when he opens the closet door. Michael is disappointed to find nothing to help, though isn't surprised, trailing through the cabin to the living room and dropping to the couch in defeat. What is he even doing here?

Telling himself not to feel as guilty as he is for intruding, Michael picks up a notepad and pen from the table and begins leafing through. He knows Alex always keeps a notebook to hand for notes and thoughts about the projects he is working on, often written in its own code. He's teased Alex about it over the years for liking something so tactile and archaic, when his life is lived on computers, tablets, and phones. Though Alex's preference for writing things by hand is just one of the many things Michael loves about him; one of so many confessions he should have made long before now.

The words on those pages are a mix of gibberish and lists for everything from groceries to to-do lists for chores that need doing around the cabin. Any hope he'd had of a note saying _find me here_ is gone with the turn of the final page. Michael takes the notebook anyway as he makes his way out, trying to decide where to head next.

As he drives Michael thinks of Kyle's words, deciding that despite his insistence there is no clue about Alex's whereabouts in the Project Shepherd bunker he wants to look for himself. He's only been to the bunker once, Alex showing it to him to prove there was a government conspiracy when he'd had difficulty believing him. Michael remembers how to get there, though takes a little time to find the way in. And once inside he ignores the way his skin crawls urging him to run back out again. The wall of computers that he has no idea how to get into, all the paperwork scattered around; Michael still doesn't know what he's looking for, but in his gut he knows he needs to be here if he stands any chance of finding Alex.

Though Michael's instincts tell him to tear the place apart, to burn every last thing in this bunker that can bring harm to him, Isobel, and Max. This is the place where the torture of his people was coordinated from, scrutinized, discussed as though _his people_ were nothing more than lab rats. This is the place where _Jesse Manes_ took everything from him, including Alex. Hate boils in Michael's veins, and for several minutes the need to _destroy_ takes over. The clank of metal on metal, shattered glass, and shredded paper brings him momentary relief. Michael sags when it's over, bunching his fingers into fists, before putting everything that isn't broken back where it was by hand. _Alex_ has been here. This is one of _Alex's_ places. So it isn't somewhere Michael can completely trash without feeling guilty for it.

The handwritten notes still scattered on the table fascinate him as he calms down. The symbols Michael knows and recognizes, even if he doesn't understand what they say. They stir up a memory, a dormant one that he can't quite hear or make out. If he had time he'd take them back to _his_ bunker to compare against the console he's building. Instead, Michael gathers them together, grabbing a bag that he finds beneath the computer desk. Holding on to the bag hurts, because he knows it's Alex's. How can he be so wounded by a _bag_?

If that bag wounds him, finding Alex's handwriting is a punch to the gut. Michael remembers notebooks filled with lyrics, scribbled notes they once passed in class, and all the letters Alex sent him when he was overseas. Michael doubts anyone knows that they were corresponding over the past ten years, though why would they even suspect? Alex has always been ashamed of him, keeping any interaction with him secret.

Michael slumps against the table for a reprieve from the thoughts racing around his mind. Despite everything that has happened over the past few days he can only picture Alex's face, hear him worrying about only seeing his father when he looked in the mirror. That crushing ache that's sat in his chest since Jesse found them when they were kids bends and shifts for replaying Alex's words. Maybe Alex was never ashamed of him. Maybe he couldn't shake the image of what his father did to him, and was ashamed of _that_. Maybe all that secrecy Alex insisted on was his way of _protecting_ Michael, of winning this particular battle. It doesn't make Michael feel any better.

He _has_ to get to Alex. He has to find him, listen to him, say all the things he's ever wanted to but could never get out. He _needs_ Alex; Michael tried to kid himself otherwise. He plays a role in front of other people, finds solace in drink and warm bodies, but has only ever found—and known—himself with Alex. All these years pretending he could want anything different, or didn't need anyone at all, Michael isn't sure fooled anyone; least of all himself. And he would be furious about his timing for realizing that but is all out of anger; it isn't as though he hasn't known what Alex means to him all along. But all Michael knows now is fear, and need, and a little desperation for being so out of his depth.

Michael studies Alex's notes again, running his thumbs over the indentation of the pen on the paper, looking for any indication of where he might have gone. He isn't naive enough to think Alex would have drawn him a map, nor hope that Alex might believe he'd find reason to follow him. Maybe that is the problem; Alex doesn't know Michael would drop everything and anything for him, prioritize him over pretty much anything else.

Michael gathers all the papers together reading them over and over, hoping for some clue to give him an idea where to go. There are lists of UFO sightings that he scoffs at, personnel lists for those staffed at Caulfield, pages and pages of inventories that make no sense to Michael, and so many other useless words besides. He reads with disgust the details of what Noah has done over the years wondering how, if he's so disgusted by his subterfuge, how Isobel will ever recover. Michael knows jealousy for thinking of Kyle bringing these details of autopsies, murders, and whatever else he's taken from the hospital, for picturing him sat here with _Alex_ discussing them late into the night.

He is relieved there aren't too many details of everything that was done at Caulfield; reading about all the experiments he knows had to have happened would be too harrowing at this point, and Michael is still too raw. He's had barely any time to get used to the idea of his mom being gone, but he'd also had only a few minutes of knowing she was here. And _Alex_ is still here, alive and well, and hurting because of him. If anything deserves Michael's full attention right now it is _him_.

Michael's mind is in chaos, and all these words mean _nothing_. What the hell is he supposed to do with half-finished sentences, false accusations, and endless lists? There is a print out of Air Force bases that someone, possibly Alex, has underlined several of. Arizona, Oregon, Michigan, California; so many states that put the Air Force just about everywhere. Michael knows Alex has spent a little time on bases here at home as well; could he be planning on visiting these bases to say goodbye to old friends from the Air Force?

Arizona rings a bell. Michael remembers Alex talking about a training base he'd been stationed at for a few months, how he'd teased him for being some kind of Top Gun when Alex had been talking about F-16s. He also remembers Alex kissing him quiet and what came after that to distract them both; what Michael wouldn't give now to have _listened_ to what he was telling him at the time, to know for certain if this is somewhere he should go.

This is pointless. How can he just set off on a whim chasing Alex across the country with no idea of where he might go? But equally, how can he stay here? Roswell feels empty without Alex, and everywhere Michael looks is a reminder of how his life has been so small, and unimportant. He has no reason to be here but Isobel and Max; shouldn't a home be more than somewhere to stay for someone else? Michael hasn't got a clue, but if he stays here a moment longer, he doesn't know what he might do.

There is nothing else he can think of doing. At least if he's on the road he'll feel like he's doing something. And who knows; at this base in Arizona maybe he'll find another helpful person like _Blake_ that will give him some clue of where Alex might be. Michael scoops up all of the papers he thinks he's half-memorized for reading over and over and stuffs them in _Alex's_ bag, giving the bunker one final glance over before heading out.

* * *

Michael finds himself outside of Max's, knowing he has to at least sound his leaving Roswell out with him. Nothing will stop him from leaving, of course, but if he takes off without a word he knows both Max and Isobel will worry. It's a comfort, really, that in this place where he has never quite fit in he will be _missed_. Even if there are only two people here now that he loves. Both of whom are here; he looks Isobel's car over, thinking how unlike her it is to leave her car unwashed. Can he really leave when she is still suffering?

Max's house taunts him for how _steady_ and _normal_ it looks, an image of a life that Michael tells himself he doesn't want because it's not for him to have. He could have gone to college, worked in so many different industries, built a home just like this with someone. With _Alex_. How different would their lives have been if he'd done that?

He can't think about that now. Any daydreaming he's done about such things are now even further from reality because Alex isn't even here. He needs to _get_ to him; how could he allow things become a scenario like this when Alex walks away? Michael forces back all the cruel words he's been hurling at himself ever since Kyle's news and jogs up the steps to Max's house.

Max is recovering so slowly. Whatever he tried to do in his attempts to revive Rosa put him near death, terrifying all of them. The bruises beneath his eyes are purple, his skin so pale Michael thinks he can pick out every vein. Though Max smiles up at him tiredly anyway, trying to hide that he is suffering. Max even gets a quick almost-eye roll in when Isobel fusses over him, rearranging blankets to tuck around his legs now he's sat up on the couch.

"You doing okay?" Michael asks, watching Max curl his fingers around a mug of coffee, eyes half-closed as though he could fall asleep sat up.

"Sure."

"Seriously?"

"Michael," Max says, shaking his head, "I'm fine. Or, I will be. I just need to rest up, get back to normal."

Of course that's what Max wants. Michael doesn't blame him; how could he when he'd wanted a sense of _normal_ himself?

"There is no way you're ready to go back to work," Isobel says, ignoring the look Max gives her and adjusting the blanket over his shoulder.

"I know that. But I can't lie here forever."

"And you did almost kill yourself," Michael points out. Seeing Max so withered and haggard back when they'd found him has given him nightmares in the moments he's allowed himself to sleep—when he hasn't dreamt of Alex, of course.

"Yeah, well. For all the good it did—"

"It's done, Michael," Isobel says, cutting him off, "it's over. We need to put all this behind us and just… get on with the next chapter of our lives. However that's going to work out."

Michael doesn't quite agree. There are so many questions about _them_ from what Noah insinuated; how can they put all of that behind them and just move on? But whatever happens, whatever is coming, Alex is his priority now. He has to be.

"Listen," he says, having no idea how they're going to take this, "I need to take off for a while."

"Take off? Take off where?"

"I don't know," Michael says in answer to Isobel's question.

"Is it Alex?"

Michael doesn't expect Max to be the one to understand him so quickly, though in a way is pleased that he is.

"Yeah."

"You two skipping off into the sunset together?" Isobel teases as she smiles at him. She is _better_, but Michael doesn't know when that haunted look is going to leave her eyes. Guilt hits him _again_ for the decision he's making, though doesn't change his mind.

"No. Nothing like that." Michael clenches his fists and sinks back into his armchair, pausing as he plans his words. Though what planning does he need? This is simple as anything. "Alex took off."

"As in… left town?" Max asks, shaking his head like he doesn't believe him.

"Yeah, Max, he just took off."

"But—"

"I need to see him. Talk to him; I don't even know. But I need to get to him. We've got a lot of stuff to figure out."

He's not spoken to either of them much about Alex. Isobel knows a little since she's asked him for _stories_ to distract from all she's been reliving. And it's only recently Michael even realized Max was aware of his involvement with Alex. It's telling, possibly, that neither of them is offering up any objections. So he tells them all he knows, which is next to nothing, and hates being on the end of their sympathetic smiles.

"So. Where are you going to look?" Isobel asks when he's done, putting him on edge with how accepting they are about this. Did they already know Alex was gone?

"I'm thinking of Arizona. He was stationed at a base there, briefly, so. I think maybe he's visiting people he knows. Might as well be there."

"We could try to trace his phone?"

"Max. You think _Alex Manes_ would leave his phone on so that we could find him if he wanted to disappear? With what he does?"

"If he wants to disappear, are you sure you—"

"Yes," Michael tells Isobel before she can finish. "I'm going."

"I don't think I even know what Alex does," Max says then, seeming surprised. "Aside from being in the Air Force, obviously."

"He's a code breaker." Is this a career he's going to pursue now he's out of the Air Force? Michael has so many questions for Alex once he's found him.

"Right."

"What about Maria?" Isobel asks then. Michael doesn't even flinch. There is nothing to say.

"There's nothing there."

"No?"

"No."

"Are you… telling her you're going?"

"Hadn't thought about it," Michael replies. He probably should. Even if it's just because Alex is Maria's friend—or was before this _mess_. Does he owe her that much?

"Are you doing okay, Michael?" Max asks then, far softer in tone than Michael is used to. He doesn't like it, doesn't need Max to choose _now_ to know him so well.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Your hand?"

"Perfect," Michael tells him, holding it up for Max to see.

"But with your mom—"

"I'm good, Max. Seriously."

He doesn't want either of them to be concerned. It feels misplaced right now, like he doesn't deserve it. Now that the desperate fury for all that happened with Noah and his mom has subsided with the news of Alex leaving, Michael feels like his only two emotions are guilt, and panic. And the longer he sits here, the worst it's going to get.

"I'm gonna take off."

"I'll walk you out," Isobel announces when Michael stands, joining him.

"You'll keep in touch, right, Michael?" Max adds, slowly getting up himself.

Michael hasn't thought much beyond getting to Alex, so keeping in contact with anyone wasn't part of that plan. But he will, of course he will. He tells Max as much, both surprised and comforted when he hugs him. Max even _feels_ weak when he does, but Michael doesn't point it out.

"How're you doing, Iz?" Michael asks when they're outside, and Isobel has linked her arm through his.

"Oh. You know. Murderous one minute, violated the next. All of the time, actually," she says, frowning a touch but then shaking her head. "I'm fine."

"I need to do this. Otherwise, I'd be here, with you. You know that, right?"

"Michael. Alex is important to you. You get to feel whatever it is you're feeling, and you get to do something that's just for you. Don't you think you've given up enough over all these years?"

Michael has to look away, not wanting Isobel to know how touched he is by her words. He scuffs his boot and turns his head, making for his truck. "I know I need to go. I know that much."

"I wish you felt like you could talk to us about this before now."

Michael really can't look at her. He's never even thought to talk about Alex with anyone, their time together too snatched and laced with so much hurt. Would things have turned out any different—would _he_ have been different—if he'd allowed himself to talk to someone? How can he know that now?

"Michael—"

"I need to fix this, Iz. If I do that, then I'll talk all you want."

"It's not about what _I_ want. It's about what you _need_."

Michael closes his eyes, hands resting against the door of his truck, and slumps there. "Yeah, well. I need _him_."

There is no way he can stick around now he's been so honest. Michael throws himself into the truck, laughing when Isobel stops him from slamming it closed and reaches in to hug him.

"Call," she says, pressing her chin into his shoulder. "Message. _Talk_."

"I need to find him first."

"Not to Alex. Well," Isobel amends, straightening his collar as she stands back, "obviously talk to him. But don't do this alone if you don't want to. We're here, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Iz."

"Actually…"

Isobel pulls back from him with a look on her face that he knows means she is up to something. Michael hopes she doesn't ask to come _with_ him; he knows she's listless after Noah, but this is something he needs to do on his own. Though he also has no way of refusing her, not for that look of horror he keeps seeing in her eyes.

"What?"

"Are you leaving right away?"

"Well, _yeah_." He needs to be gone already. Michael can't bear to be here another moment knowing Alex could be getting further and further from him.

"Like, right now?"

"Isobel—"

"Go tomorrow," she says, squeezing Michael's arm.

"I can't be here another night. I can't." Panic races in Michael's chest for the thought of _waiting_. How would he sleep tonight anyway, if he didn't at least get on the road?

"When did you find out he was gone?"

"This morning."

Isobel's smile is sympathetic and Michael hates it, already trying to turn way.

"Michael—"

"I can't be here, Iz," Michael hisses, because if he speaks any louder, the break in his voice will be loud and clear. "I need to—"

"It's like… three now. I don't know where exactly you're going, but are you seriously just taking off without any planning? Without really knowing where you're going?"

"I can't _be_ here," Michael repeats, when what he means is he can't be alone. Not here, not in the place he's sent Alex running from because he's hurt him. He can't be alone with the weight of that.

"Just give me a couple of hours."

"For what?"

"Just… a couple of hours, Michael. Please?" Isobel asks, squeezing his arm and pulling _that_ face that she's used on both him and Max for years.

"What? Why?"

"Because I think I have something for you that will be helpful. And let me at least cook you dinner before you head off into the great unknown?"

He wants to say no. He wants to be _gone_. But this is Isobel asking. And a couple of hours to pack and _think_ might even be good for him. Michael lets Isobel pull him into a hug and relents with a heavy sigh, wondering how he's going to kill the time.

* * *

This Airstream has been Michael's home and solace for so long. But as he looks around it now taking in its familiar nooks and crannies, Michael gets the distinct impression he no longer belongs even here. There is no solitude to be found here, only a stifling feeling from being trapped alone with his own thoughts. Michael grabs a bag from a closet and stuffs it full with a handful of his better clothes.

He owns so little that he's packed in minutes, debating if there is anything else he can take. It would make sense, really, to drive out of Roswell with the Airstream attached to his truck, but since he has no real idea of what he's doing the thought is a fleeting one. Michael sinks down on his bed studying his newly-fixed fingers, asking himself again how the hell he and Alex got to _this_.

Michael stands again in seconds pacing back and forth, debating food, and alcohol, and acetone to numb away this flightiness in his stomach knowing nothing will help. How is he supposed to give Isobel these _hours_ she's asked of him?

Of course, Alex keeps him company, as Michael plays memories of him over and over in his mind. They come to him in snatches, treasured moments he takes out sometimes when he's at his lowest and doesn't want to feel alone. Nobody would believe he was the kind of person to catalog kisses and memorize words, but Michael can recall every sweet thing Alex has ever said to or done for him. On some days when the world isn't quite so heavy those are the memories that rise to the surface, instead of the steady string of cruelties they've hurled at one another.

Michael slumps back on the bed staring up at the ceiling, settling on Alex's last period of leave before he'd come back to stay in Roswell after his leg. Alex had called to say he had a few days, and they'd met in a motel on the edge of town, as they had done so many times. Always out of sight, always in secret. How many excuses he'd made to Isobel and Max for disappearing over the years Michael doesn't know, but does relive how much it hurt for Alex being so adamant _they_ weren't known about.

Over the ten years he'd served overseas Alex had always said the reason for their _deception_ was so they could be alone away from prying eyes, which Michael had always taken to mean his father and as an excuse. He'd also taken anything Alex would give him, even when he'd tried to argue with himself against it. That last leave of absence Michael remembers he'd fought with himself harder than ever to not go to Alex. But he'd still been sat in the parking lot of that motel long before Alex had arrived.

Michael can still feel Alex on him, that same sense of desperate need he'd experienced every time Alex had come back coursing through him just as strong as it always has. He remembers polite words as they'd taken a room, the few minutes of exchanging niceties, and then that need taking over them both. He remembers squeaking bed frames, bangs on walls telling them to keep the noise down, and the best kind of exhaustion from lying spent and sated in Alex's arms.

Alex's accusation that they never did much talking Michael decides he is wounded by more than anything else. Those moments they shared curled up together in motel rooms involved so much talking. All their hopes and fears shared, along with Alex's stories from overseas that he could talk about interspersed with the goings-on in Roswell in his absence. Alex knows Michael like nobody else ever has. Michael has kissed away Alex's scars and scrapes, and savored the feel of Alex's lips on him doing the same. These are the things Michael has spent hours replaying, all that softness and tenderness that they share. They are _good_ for one another when they aren't fighting; why can't they ever seem to find a way to focus more on that?

Michael groans as the last moments of Alex's last visit replay for him, wincing for the accusations hurled at one another, and the door slamming closed as Alex stormed out. Michael has provoked Alex into leaving so many times, needing to watch Alex walk away to affirm _they_ were never going to happen. It doesn't matter what he wants. Alex has always been something he cannot have. But now that Alex has left Roswell yet again, has walked away for what might be the final time, Michael can't breathe for the thought of never seeing him.

Without intending to Michael drops off to sleep, waking with a start from a barrage of Alex's most angry words on repeat in his dreams. He jumps up from the bed, nervous energy making him pace back and forth in the Airstream again before he can focus his thoughts. He grabs his bag, checking his phone and dialing Alex's number because he can't bear the thought of not trying. He debates leaving a message on the voicemail but then ends the call, storming his way outside.

Michael sags into his seat in the truck letting his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes to pull up a mental map of where he needs to go. He needs a real map; it's not like he's been all that far out of Roswell in his life, so whatever highway he needs to take he needs to look up first. Michael opens the glove compartment half-heartedly feeling around for a map that he knows isn't there, already planning on picking one up when he stops to fill up with gas. Though what he's really looking for he snags his fingers around after a couple of tries, pulling it out to study.

Alex's guitar pick is bottle green and covered in scratches for how many years he's been holding on to it. Sometimes when he's been missing Alex so badly it's impossible to even _think_, Michael sits in his truck and holds on to this guitar pick, wishing him safe wherever he is. The guitar pick Alex carved for him one night sat somewhere in the desert, the two of them giddy with the freedom of just being _them_, kids in the fresh bloom of first loves. _Only_ loves in their case, Michael amends as he holds up the guitar pick and runs his thumb over the initials carved there as he thinks.

It's going to take him about nine hours to get to the airbase in Arizona. And judging from the reception of Blake at _Alex's_ base—former base—Michael has no idea how he's going to get in. He debates all kinds of tactics with the comforting feel of that guitar pick pressed in his hand, knowing only that he has to go, and that he wishes he was on his way already.

Michael regrets saying he would go to Isobel's, knocking his head back on the headrest in frustration for thinking how many miles he could have already covered. He plans and replays several scenarios where finding Alex is easy, and the only hurdle he has to overcome is getting Alex to talk. Michael imagines a conversation with Alex, hoping his words don't come out in a rush pleading for forgiveness, not sure he has any reason to think Alex will give him a moment of his time.

Michael slides his phone from his pocket and thumbs through the gallery, stomach knotting for the first image of Alex. He only has a couple, and even those were quick shots taken before Alex could protest too much. The first was taken right here in the truck, trying to prove Alex had sauce on his cheek from a last-minute burger grabbed from the Crashdown. Michael aches for the thought of those easy few days he'd shared with Alex when he'd last returned, when hope had given him a reason to get out of bed in the morning.

The picture that holds Michael's attention, however, is of Alex asleep on the pillow beside him. If he lets himself Michael can still feel Alex's fingers pressed to his stomach, and still taste the kiss that came before that. The ache in his gut for Alex then getting up to leave never really went anywhere, but looking at this picture now Michael wishes even harder that Alex had stayed. Then, and now, and on every occasion before he went back overseas. Should he really be chasing after someone who can always leave him so easily?

Michael argues with himself yet again, so tired of the sound of his own voice in his head that he puts on the radio just to drown it out. He has to try this. He has to go to Alex, wherever he is, ask him to hear him out this final time. If Alex has already said goodbye to him there is nothing he can do about that, but Michael knows he won't ever rest if he doesn't try. Michael curses under his breath and starts the engine, turning the truck around and heading to Isobel's.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSe-rYzoymk4dHpTo-yo-yud7a6Wiojm86-UYe7nC7-UaNUY-A/viewform)! Happy voting!


	3. Chapter 3

"You're here!"

Isobel's enthusiasm is both grating for its optimism and reassuring for her sounding more like her typical self. She hugs Michael in the doorway then drags him in hard enough to make him stumble, not letting go of his wrist as she leads him straight to the kitchen.

"I made steak, with all the trimmings—lots of it. So I hope you're hungry."

"I could eat." He's not eaten anything all day, has been ignoring the way his stomach has grumbled at him. Though Isobel making him his favorite dinner stirs something in Michael that he puts down to being emotionally on edge because of Alex, and almost steals his appetite. Almost; the sight of a mound of roast potatoes being pulled from the oven along with the three steaming dishes of vegetables already on the side leaves Michael's stomach protesting for how empty it is. He watches Isobel switch off the stove and pour a delicious-smelling gravy from a pan into a jug, and is ravenous.

"You want beer, wine, scotch… coffee?" Isobel asks, checking over their food as though she's forgotten something before she looks at him.

"Well. I'm planning on leaving pretty soon, so—"

"Spoil my fun," Isobel says, pouting, though already moving over to the coffee machine. "Coffee? It'll keep you awake for the drive."

"Sure."

"Sit."

Michael follows Isobel's nod though grabs two of the dishes to slide on the dining table then pulls out a chair, dropping into it hard enough for the chair to squeak across the floor. Isobel isn't all the way back from the ordeal she has been through; there is no lecture about him marking the floor, or one about the way he's casually half-draped against the table. But she seems happy enough as she brings over the remaining dishes insisting he doesn't need to do anything, and goes back to making them coffee.

"Thanks for doing this. You didn't have to," Michael calls, playing with the cutlery on the table. Isobel's home feels different in Noah's absence, and as he looks around while listening to Isobel preparing their meal Michael even thinks she's spent some time _making_ it look different. It's as though she's already erased every trace of Noah, and he can't blame her for that.

Michael knows Kyle had a hand in helping with Noah's autopsy, that Isobel's stunned appearance to confirm it was his body easily showed her to be the grieving widow that she is. The details of how Noah got to the morgue she doesn't know the details of, and Michael is happy to keep it that way. He'll do anything to limit the fallout of this for Isobel any way that he can. Michael has fielded calls from Noah's work colleagues looking to offer their condolences, and can see the stack of mail Isobel still can't face opening on a kitchen counter. Though considering everything she is having to come to terms with, Isobel's recovery has been remarkable. Michael hopes she takes all the time she needs.

"No problem," Isobel tells him, smiling as she turns. "I considered making you some food for the road."

"You don't need—"

"Look. You don't know where you're going, how long you'll be gone. What you'll even do if you do find Alex—"

"I _will_ find him," Michael insists. He doesn't know how. But he's going to make it happen.

"Good."

"_Good_?" Michael repeats. "What's good about it? He wouldn't have gone if I hadn't—if I hadn't been _me_ in the first place."

"What's wrong with _you_?" Isobel asks, frowning and smiling at the same time.

"You want a list or something?"

"Why? Did you want to compare notes?"

"See," Michael says, laughing as he sits forward, "I was under the impression you invited me over here to dinner to be _nice_ to me."

"Since when am I _nice_ to you?"

Michael smiles; _that's_ Isobel. He'll take her snarking and teasing any day so long as it's done with a smile.

"You're taking the Airstream?"

"No. Just the truck."

"Well. Where are you planning on sleeping?"

"Isobel. I slept in that truck for years."

Isobel makes a face that says she doesn't want to think about that. He watches her plate up their food, calling across his offer to help that is of course rebuked.

"And you're starting in Arizona?" she asks, bringing the food to the table. It looks amazing, as her cooking always does. Michael's stomach growls in protest reminding him he is still yet to eat.

"This looks great, Iz, thanks. And yeah. Gotta start somewhere, right?"

"So. Tell me about _Alex_," she says, adjusting the plates on the table. She really has made way too much just for them.

Michael doesn't think he wants to talk about Alex. Or if he even knows _how_ to. "Like what?"

"Like… anything? Everything? You tell me you've been in love with him forever and always will be, and I didn't even notice." Isobel is smiling but she's a mixture of curious and guilty for not knowing. She has enough on her mind without adding misplaced guilt to her thoughts.

"Nobody did. Not like we went around advertising the fact."

"Why?"

Michael doesn't want to get into it, doesn't want to voice out loud how devastated he is for not ever being _enough_ for Alex. So he smiles, drowns his dinner in that amazing-looking gravy, and tries to stall for time so the words don't come out much more than a little self-deprecating. "Because. Alex didn't want anyone to know."

"Well, that's—"

"Iz," Michael says, shaking his head already defending Alex, "he left here when he was seventeen, okay? He had to. Not his fault. Not with his dad and everything, and… well. He wanted to, I guess."

Michael is still reeling from learning Alex wanted to leave. He _gets_ it; every word that Alex said to him in the Airstream made sense. But it's still crushing him to think that Alex wanted to leave him, no matter how many reasons he knows there are behind that decision.

"For all his _charm_, Jesse Manes is a real piece of work," Isobel says in a low, considering voice. But if she means to elaborate on that statement she's choosing not to. Michael watches her shake her head in dismissal then smile, nodding towards his plate. "Eat. And keep talking."

"About?"

"_Michael_—"

"He was never—he came back sometimes, when he was gone. When he was on leave. He came back to see _me_. Mostly, I think. I don't know. Sure didn't come back for his family."

This is what is confusing him the most. Alex _left_ him, but only ever came _back_ for him. How is he ever supposed to get his head around that?

"Well, that's sweet, at least?"

Michael concentrates on his steak, ignoring the tone of Isobel's voice. She might tease him, pretend she is disinterested in anything that matters to him, but she's still his biggest defender. Michael can hear her resentment of Alex and doesn't want to have to deal with it. Doesn't want to have to explain.

"Whatever."

"Still," Isobel says, gesturing at his plate with her fork since Michael has paused from eating. "It's sweet. It _is_. And it explains why you kept disappearing without a trace all this time. I just thought you were hooking up with one of your latest conquests or sleeping some bender off somewhere."

There it is, the shift of voice that is still teasing but leans more towards condascending, the tone that is so often accompanied with a fond though exasperated, _oh, Michael_. Though Michael spots the moment Isobel realizes she's doing it and watches her face fall in contrition.

"Yeah. Well—"

"Even if that _was_ what you were doing, it's not a bad thing," she tells him. "You're allowed to have something just for yourself, Michael, whatever it is. And I get it, I think."

"What?"

"You, sneaking off to spend time with Alex away from, well. All of this. _Us_. I mean why wouldn't you?"

Michael tries to protest at the additional roast potatoes she spears on to his plate to distract him but eats them regardless, once again stalling for time.

"Just tell me _something_," Isobel pleads, staring at him even if Michael won't look up from his plate.

He wants to lash out because this is too personal and he is too raw. Though there is no way he can ever refuse Isobel; least of all when she's been through all she has. "We met up whenever he was back, when he was… whenever he was around."

"Where?"

"Wherever. Motels—"

"Here in Roswell?" Isobel says, her face lighting up in amusement. Michael can't have those precious memories he cherishes belittled like that.

"_Yeah_, Iz."

"See, that's even more sweet," she tells him with a wistful sigh as she props her elbow against the table and her chin in her hand. "The two of you hiding away together in your own little bubble. No one else around."

With the threat of _mocking_ subsiding, Michael tells himself to relax, belatedly taking a swig of his coffee to find it's already getting cold. "Yeah. It was good."

Isobel smiles, making it obvious she expects to hear even more.

"We talked. Caught up. Were just _together_," he says, still reluctant to be sharing any of this. "It was just us. Like we could forget everything else in the world, and everything we were—or weren't—and just _be_. And it was… while he was gone, it was kind of everything. It was the thing I held on to, anyway, to keep going. Just for _me_."

He can't share anymore. The details, the stories, the moments when they could pretend they really were the only people in the world. Isobel doesn't need to know how many nights he laid awake with only Alex's letters for company in between his visits. She doesn't need to know how hard he tried to forget him, and how so many of his worst decisions were only because he couldn't. So Michael forces more food into his mouth so he doesn't have to talk, silently pleading with Isobel that she won't insist on it.

"Anyway," she says, staring at him. He can feel her looking still, so swallows his bite of steak then forces himself to lift his head. "Michael, I know you're probably going to get mad about this, but I had an idea for you that I think you're going to need; whether you like it or not."

Michael had forgotten she'd even mentioned anything about an _idea_ for him. He's both cautious and intrigued. "Like what?"

"You finished with this?" she asks gesturing at their mostly empty plates. Michael follows her to the kitchen to help her clean up.

"So?"

"Well. I know you're doing okay for money when you're _working_; has to be some perks to being so fast at fixing everything in this town."

"I do okay."

"You do," Isobel agrees, "but that's _here_. Look. Alex is gone. You're heading to Arizona because you don't know where to start looking for him, but the reality is you really don't know where to look."

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't go after him." Michael wipes down a counter keeping his back to Isobel. He won't listen to her attempts to talk him out of it but doesn't want to see her face when she tries.

"Of course it doesn't," Isobel agrees, surprising him enough to have him spinning round to lean back against the counter. "You just don't know how long you're going to be on the road. Even if you're stubborn and sleep in that truck of yours, you still need to eat. Get gas. Maybe shower somewhere once in a while."

He knows that, of course he does. Michael is even surprised to find that _Isobel_ has put so much thought into him taking off. Everything about this feels surreal; Michael closes his eyes and pinches over them, trying to organize his thoughts.

"I have a little. Money, I mean. I'll be okay."

"Yeah. But how quickly will that run out?"

Michael doesn't want to think that far ahead. He has a vague plan to pick up casual work as he goes if he has to, but doesn't want to think about it too hard. If he's away for a long time, it means he hasn't found Alex, and he can't deal with even the suggestion of that.

"I'll figure it out."

"I know you will," Isobel agrees, squeezing his arm, nodding for Michael to follow her through to the lounge. "I just wanted to give you a little contingency plan, is all."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" Michael doesn't like the way she sits primly on the edge of the couch, knees and ankles pressed together and hands wringing in her lap. He braces for bad news.

"I transferred some money to your bank account."

Michael isn't sure he's heard her right, but from the look on her face is sure that he has. "Iz—"

"Noah had a life insurance policy. Two, really; one from his law firm, and a private thing he set up. And a ton of other funds; he sure knew how to keep money hidden away. Along with everything else."

Isobel's face falls, and Michael has the need to comfort her, but doesn't know how. He sits belatedly, resting his hand on her shoulder, glad when she leans into his touch.

"Well. That's good, right? You get it all as his…"

"Wife?" she finishes for him, with a bitter laugh that makes him throw an am around her shoulders. "Yes. I do. All of it."

"Iz. It won't make up for all he put you through, but it's all yours. You have to take it."

"It's far more than I need."

"But—"

"I can pay off the mortgage, my car. I'll still have way more than I need—more than I can deal with having in good conscience," Isobel adds, smiling when she finally turns to look at him.

"Doesn't mean you have to give me any."

"You're my family. Noah hurt all of us. Max is doing okay; obviously I'll have this same fight with him when I give him some. But you, Michael," Isobel says, nudging against his leg, "I don't think I could live with having all this money, when I could help you."

"But—"

I've transferred enough into your account to help for a couple of months; I imagine it'll take some weeks for all the policies to come through, but I have some saved. I need you to take it," she insists when Michael tries to protest again. "You've done so much for me, and for Max. And we're the ones who had… don't think I don't feel just as guilty as Max does for our lives turning out so much easier than yours."

Michael doesn't know what to say. He's not put much thought into anything but _getting_ to Alex, but if Isobel is offering this help then it's going to ease his journey, however long it takes. So he accepts it, surprises Isobel with a hard hug that leaves her giggling as he all but wrestles her back on the couch. Her laughter isn't quite joyful and carefree yet but is enough to show she's happy at least in this moment. Michael bumps his head on her shoulder before sitting up and taking her hand.

"Thanks, Iz."

"No problem. Now. What is it going to take for me to persuade you to set off in the morning instead of going now when you're full of food and sleepy? How do I know you won't fall asleep at the wheel when it gets dark?"

It's already after eight. If he leaves now and doesn't take a break on the road, it will be four, maybe five in the morning when he reaches Arizona. Michael knows he will be better for sleeping again and setting off fresh, but feels guilty for even considering a delay in looking for Alex.

"I need to be up early anyway," Isobel adds to convince him, turning and clutching his arm with pleading in her eyes. "I'll make you breakfast before you go. Please?"

How is he supposed to resist that look on her face? "Like… eggs? Maybe bacon?"

"Waffles," Isobel replies, slapping him on the chest. "Syrup. Fruit. Something quick; I want to sleep in as long as I can. Anything beyond the coffee machine and the waffle iron will be way too much effort."

Michael hesitates but then nods in agreement, leaning forward for the remote on Isobel's coffee table and turning the TV on. "So. What are we watching?"

"You pick something," Isobel calls, already running to the kitchen with far more energy than Michael thinks is necessary given how much they ate. She runs back in clutching a bottle of scotch and two glasses, then drops down on the couch beside him practically into Michael's lap, pouring them both a drink.

* * *

With his stomach full of pancakes and a series of promises to be careful muffled into Isobel's shoulder as she sees him off, Michael runs to his truck and throws himself inside to avoid the rain. He grimaces at the damp clinging to his clothes as he wipes the windshield with his forearm so he can see out, glancing up at the sky adamant this is _not_ a sign to stay put.

He watches Isobel do a similar dash to her own car though from under the shelter of an umbrella. He waits until she turns out of her drive and goes to start the engine, but is then hit with a fresh wave of despair that Alex is even gone in the first place. Michael turns in his seat, reaching for Alex's bag from behind him. But before he can snag his fingers on the strap his eyes fall on the tear in the back seat cushion, and he's aching for Alex again, proving every single thing now reminds him of Alex. Though really, hasn't it always been like that?

When Alex had first come back to Roswell to see him, they hadn't put any thought into it aside from being together. He picked Alex up in a diner parking lot and drove him out into the desert, where they'd climbed into the backseat and clawed at each other's clothes, desperate just to be together. That tear on his back seat is the result of one of so many of those times; Michael can't remember the specific one, but would give anything to look back around now to see Alex waiting for him with _that_ look on his face.

Michael forces the thought away dragging Alex's bag into his lap. He pulls all the papers he's collected out to rest on the seat beside him then searches through every pocket, hoping for some kind of sign.

"C'mon, Alex. Give me a clue. _Please_."

The silence in the truck is making his heart race. He searches through the pages from Project Shepherd rereading words he's already memorized, once again frustrated that nothing stands out. Even the few additional pages he'd scooped up in a hurry to be gone yield nothing. Though he does find a business card for something called Corazon, the name _Latoya_ scratched into the top right corner in blue ink on the back.

Michael checks his phone, cursing when he realizes he's almost out of all data; he'll have to recharge it on the road. Instead, he heads to a Super 8 on the edge of Roswell that he knows the WiFi password for. _Corazon_ doesn't tell him much. The _business_ _card_ has no website, and a quick search of the word brings up only Spanish translations and a link to a Spanish TV network. He turns back out on to the road after checking directions on his newly purchased map, and finally sets off for Arizona pleading with Alex to magically just be there.

When Michael pictured leaving Roswell he'd expected the typical blue skies and dusty landscape to accompany him, with mile upon mile of the same old roads. He had no reason to imagine there would be rain. But there is, and it's heavy, and Michael thinks it's probably to match his mood. It is heavy enough to make him cautious as he drives, gripping tighter to the steering wheel than necessary in case the truck veers off the road.

Alex is with him as he drives, Michael replaying all the conversations he can in the hope that he might get some latent clue about where he is going. Again he is struck by how it's taken _really_ losing Alex to acknowledge just what he means to him. The anger he feels for himself is a thin, whistling rage that urges him to press his foot down harder, making him aquaplane twice before he yells out loud at himself to calm.

Michael reminds himself that he has no plan for when he _gets_ to Alex, and his anger is then replaced with fresh panic for not knowing what to say. So he rehearses conversations, tries to imagine every one of Alex's reactions. That disappointed look he's been on the receiving end of far too many times is more often in Michael's vision than the actual road in front of him.

When his phone buzzes there is no way he could justify answering it while driving in this weather, even if his heart races with the optimism that it is Alex. Though of course it isn't. Michael pulls to the side of the road and cuts the engine, angry with his own disappointment that the call is from Max.

"Hey. Max. Listen—"

"Michael. You doing okay? Rain's coming down here something awful."

Michael sighs, watching the rain hammer on the truck's windshield, tracing the drops down with his fingertips. "Yeah. It's pretty bad out here."

"Maybe you should stop for a bit?"

"I pulled over. It's fine. You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, Michael. And you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," Michael says, watching as a car passing in the other direction hits a puddle and the spray of it sends an arch high into the air.

"Where are you?"

Michael checks around him, seeing nothing to give him an exact location, so he can only go by the last road sign he passed. "Somewhere around San Antonio?"

"New Mexico, right?"

Michael laughs; Max must be tired. "Uh, no. Actually, I drove like, seven… eight hours in about five minutes, and now I'm in Texas."

"Okay, okay," Max says, laughing himself.

"You need to _sleep_, Max."

"I did sleep."

"Then you need to _rest_ some more."

"Yeah," Max agrees, "yeah, I know. But I just got a call, and I wanted to—I think you'll want to hear it."

_Alex_. Michael's heart is in his throat. "What?"

"I put a call to the station after you left mine yesterday. Asked people to keep an eye out for Alex."

Michael's heart is in his throat. "Did you find him? Where is he? Is he—"

"_Michael_," Max urges, "he's fine. At least, I assume he's fine. I didn't find out much. But I know he bought a car two days back. Told the dealer he was heading up to Albuquerque."

"What's in Albuquerque?"

"That's all I know," Max says, yawning. "But it's worth knowing, right?"

"Yeah. It is. Thanks, Max," Michael says, his plans for Arizona now in the balance. "Do you… what car? Or—"

"They're sending me the details over. I'll text you when I get them. And then, I think you're right; I'm going back to _bed_."

"Thanks, Max."

"No problem," Max says, still yawning. Michael worries about how long it's taking him to recover but doesn't think now is the time to bring that up.

"Go back to sleep, Max._ Thank _you."

Michael is sure that Max is asleep before he even hangs up the phone. But he has more things to think about now. What would Alex want in Albuquerque? Could he still be there now?

Alex's business card comes back to him. Michael grabs his bag again and pulls it out, heart thudding in both relief and fear when he sees the address for Albuquerque written beneath the _Corazon_ he remembers from earlier.

"New plan, Alex," Michael announces, pulling his map from the glove box and checking his new route. Michael rejoins the traffic, pleading for Alex to only be a little over an hour away.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're off to Albuquerque! 
> 
> Here's your [survey](https://forms.gle/WPsgSx8aigTcxExt8) :)


	4. Chapter 4

The rain has eased by the time Michael reaches Albuquerque. There is a part of him that expects to see a familiar landscape, or store, or something that will throw him back to his brief time here as a kid. He doesn't see anything. Though Michael does think he remembers that they flew him in to Albuquerque, so the sight of the airport to his right as he drives leaves him feeling _something_ he can't put a name to.

Michael hates driving in the downtown traffic, rolling his neck against the prickling feeling of being closed in on, of being in a far too crowded space. The relative sparse sprawl of Roswell has probably made him that way, leaving him with the urge to turn around again and head back to something more familiar. Though he won't, not without Alex. If he can just persuade him to talk maybe he can convince him to come home, and this whole panic about chasing him across the country will be unnecessary. If he can _find_ Alex, that is.

He pulls over when he gets lost for the third time, slamming his palm against the steering wheel in frustration. Michael yanks the map into his lap wincing for how quickly it tears, flattening it out and checking his route yet again. He looks for the street name he is on, thinks he recognizes the junction coming up on the map, then turns back out into traffic, a hand up in apology when he pulls out on someone.

_Corazon_ is on his left as he passes; Michael's foot rests on the brake ready to stop right there in the street if he has to. Though the siren of an ambulance in the distance stops him. Michael keeps driving, pulling into the parking lot of a Starbucks up a little further and dropping his head against the headrest with a groan.

So what is he supposed to do now? Michael looks at his phone to find a waiting message from Isobel checking he is okay, and one from Max with details of Alex's car.

_Black 2000 Ford Explorer, plate 447-YWB. Take care of yourself, Michael. Keep in contact, okay?_

Out of habit, Michael rolls his eyes at Max but still messages back a _thank you_, then composes a longer response to Isobel. Michael drums his thumb against the steering wheel looking at the Starbucks, thinking coffee might be a great idea before he does anything else. He even uses his bank card for it, so used to paying for anything he needs by cash that the card takes a little work to get out of his wallet. He thinks again of Isobel and the money she has given him, knowing he doesn't have any way to pay her back. Maybe he can help around the house with repairs and renovations when he returns to Roswell, or something. When he's at least started to fix this thing with Alex and his heart isn't broken in two. If Alex ever forgives him, Michael thinks, pleading with Alex to, in agony for the thought that he might not.

Michael walks back out clutching his coffee deciding he will walk back to inspect the address on the Corazon business card despite the rain. It's only light, so Michael takes a hooded jacket from a bag stuffed in the footwell of his truck and shrugs into it, taking a sip of his still-too-hot coffee before making his way back down the road. He checks the business card yet again and looks up at the building set back from the road behind a turfed area with three paths weaving through. When he reaches the foot of the glass and steel structure counting six floors up, he knows there is no way for him to slip inside. There are security guards posted either side of a shiny black reception desk that curves outwards, the widest section where a receptionist sits. The soft clack of the receptionist's typing Michael can hear from outside when the glass doors slide open to let someone out.

One of the security guards turns his head to glare at Michael through those doors, giving a slow shake of his head telling him not to even consider coming inside. Michael holds up his hands in a placating gesture and moves back to where he thinks he is out of sight, but can still see people coming in and out of the building. Which is apparently not far away enough.

"_Away_."

Michael thinks about answering the guard back even as he notices the thick muscle of his arms beneath his jacket, and the glint in his eye as he barrels towards him that says he would happily snap him in two. It's the way he cracks his knuckles that changes Michael's mind, even if he does think the gesture is a little over the top. So he stands again, going back beyond the turfed area and paths and on to the street, standing in a bus shelter of all things since he hasn't anywhere else to go. Belatedly realizing he should have used the bathroom back in Starbucks.

Michael gets no clue from the Corazon building about what might be inside, or what reason Alex might have for being here. He can't even see a parking lot, so having details of Alex's car isn't going to help him much. Frustration has him kicking the shelter and earning himself a look of reproach from a woman sat waiting for the bus. Michael turns his back to her and drains his coffee, once again reminded that his bladder is already far too full.

Cursing, Michael crosses the street, getting himself yelled at for using the bathroom in a cafe without buying anything. He takes his spot back at the bus stop, waving people forward when they think he is in the queue. How ridiculous is his life that it has come to this? And if he's missed Alex in the meantime then he could be standing here for hours for no reason at all. Though he's not moving now, not on the off chance that he'll see him. Michael monitors the three paths that lead up to the building with a focus that he knows must earn him suspicious looks.

The rain starts again. Michael huddles into his jacket wishing he'd chosen something different to wear, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and cursing at the sky. It isn't particularly cold, but he's damp, and miserable, and cursing himself yet again for coming here on a whim. Though what else is he supposed to do? If he can't find Alex here, he doesn't know where he'll look for him next.

Michael checks his phone repeatedly, desperation seeping into him as first eleven o'clock passes, then twelve, then one. He ignores his rumbling stomach and how much he could really do with more coffee, starting to pace back and forth as his panic rises to leave him on edge. His ideas for finding Alex grow more and more ridiculous. Could he report him as missing? Storm into that building and use his _powers_ to do something to seek him out? Could he make up an excuse that would get the building evacuated? Is there another way in that he could find?

Michael spins abruptly again at the start of the first of the paths, stepping straight into the path of a bike. Yelling after them that they shouldn't be on the sidewalk in the first place instead of the apology he should be shouting, Michael earns himself screeching bike tires and a deathly glare that he echoes, until the guy on the bike curses some more before setting off again.

The hours keep passing. Michael's heart begins to race when people start streaming from the building after five o'clock, checking every single one hoping to see Alex. None of them are him. Michael has gone beyond hunger, and thirst, and discomfort, so convinced that this is where he'll find Alex that he can't make himself leave. Though when it starts to rain heavier, a part of him is tempted. He curses at himself for even considering it, and begins his pacing vigil once again.

When eight o'clock passes, Michael's heart is in his throat as the last of the lights go out in the building, and he's stood at the bus shelter totally alone. He waits another few minutes just to be sure, then waits a few more just in case. Dejected, and defeated, though still determined he will come back tomorrow, Michael makes his way back to his truck. He pulls out of the Starbucks parking lot in search of somewhere he can park up for the night. It's not as though he doesn't have years of practice doing the same.

Michael first finds a McDonalds, where he connects to the Wifi unsurprised there are no waiting messages for him. He is ravenous, thinking about buying half the dollar menu, though settles for a supersized double quarter pounder with cheese meal. He finds a newspaper at a table and takes his time to read it as he eats, even completing the crossword in his mind ignoring the mistakes already filled in. The fries are nowhere as good as back in the Crashdown Cafe, but he's too hungry to think about that too much. He buys an apple pie for breakfast when he's full enough, going back to buy water for something else to drink overnight, then returns to the truck, finding something warmer to wear.

Tucked up in the back of the truck under a blanket that Alex once gave him, Michael is sure he won't sleep for how wired he is. But he begins to doze anyway, snatches of memories interspersed between his almost-dreams. The last thought he has before succumbing to sleep is of course of Alex.

* * *

Michael wakes with a start to the sound of a car horn blaring, jumping up and starting the engine to speed away before he can even check if the horn was meant for him. He realizes the McDonalds he spent his evening in is closer to Corazon than even the Starbucks from yesterday so parks up there, and after eating his cold apple pie decides he needs something more substantial for breakfast. As well as an excuse to use the bathroom and at least splash some water on his face.

Eating as he walks, Michael returns to his spot at the bus stop outside Corazon trying to keep that burgeoning sense of panic away. He answers messages from Isobel and Max with one eye on the building, cursing under his breath when by nine o'clock, Alex hasn't arrived.

He begins counting down the hours again, first telling himself he'll stand here for a full week if he has to in case Alex comes into or out of the building. Then three days, two days, one; how long before someone reports him for _loitering_, or something? It wouldn't be the first time. How many times has he taken refuge in bus shelters, or in stations, or anywhere when he had nowhere else to go? How many people have looked at him in pity, or fear, or even loathing, just like he imagines everyone who passes him now is doing?

By one in the afternoon, Michael could cry with the frustration he feels, knowing he has no one to blame for this but himself. Under his breath he begins to plead with Alex to appear, and with himself to have some better ideas of where else to find him. Perhaps he even lets out a sob of frustration without meaning to; the look of concern he sees from a couple waiting at the bus shelter suggests he has and makes him turn away, resuming his pacing along the sidewalk avoiding their eyes.

This is it, he thinks, when he feels a hand grab his arm, this is where he gets dragged away, arrested on suspicion of _existing_, moved along to cause trouble somewhere further along the road. He _can't_ leave; don't they get that? Michael has his argument prepared as he yanks from the grip and spins on his heel, ready to unleash all the fury he is holding on to at the person trying to keep him from Alex.

It's _Alex._ Glaring at him with such hatred that Michael would reel from it, if he wasn't so surprised—and relieved—to see him; even with the way he's looking at him. Michael blinks, rubs his eyes to be sure he isn't hallucinating; Alex is still there when he looks, and he could cry for it.

"Alex—"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The coldness of Alex's voice steals Michael's first attempt to answer him. He swallows hard and coughs before trying again. "I needed to find you."

"_Why_?"

For all the rehearsed words he has racing around his mind, Michael doesn't know what to say. He continues to look Alex over, taking in familiar light blue jeans and a navy blue shirt he doesn't think he's seen on Alex before. He looks _good_. "Because… I _had_ to."

"Yeah, well I didn't ask you to come here. I didn't _want_ you to. How did you even find me, anyway?" Alex hisses as he glances around to see if anyone is watching, looking more furious by the second. Embarrassed by him as always, Michael thinks, unconsciously following Alex's gaze.

"I found a card, for this place—this address. At the Project Shepherd bunker. I needed to talk to you, Alex."

"Yes, well, I needed to talk to _you_. And you found far better things to do with your time."

"But I—"

"I'm not interested," Alex growls at him, though doesn't walk away. Michael realizes then that Alex is just as furious at himself as he is with _him_; for _not_ walking away. How do they keep doing this to one another, when the sight of each other renders them incapable of even moving?

"Alex, _please_. I know I—"

"You don't know _anything_."

"I know you left the Air Force," Michael blurts out, latching on to any words that might keep him here, "or that you _are_ leaving. And I know I hurt you. I never meant to."

Alex's eyes narrow, his stance becoming even more hostile. "You followed me."

"Well, _yeah_, Alex. I couldn't leave things like that."

"You did a pretty good job of _leaving things like that_ when you left me sat outside your trailer," Alex retorts with that thin smile that he always gives when truly angry.

"I know. I know I did, and I'm sorry. There's so much I need to—"

"I don't want to hear it. I don't need your justification. You made your choice. It wasn't me," Alex adds, looking livid when his own voice cracks. "I _get_ that. So, it's done."

"But it isn't done," Michael says, his words tripping over themselves in his hurry to get them out, "it isn't. I mean _that's_ done. But _we're_ not. I mean—"

"Oh, _we_ are," Alex says beginning to walk away, furious when Michael steps to block his path. "I'm not standing here listening to your excuses, or anything else you have to say. You didn't want to hear me out—"

"But I _did_—"

"And I'm not standing here with an _audience_ for you to try to convince me otherwise," Alex adds, with a violent wave of his arm gesturing at the people waiting at the bus shelter. Several pairs of eyes Michael had felt on them snap to look elsewhere.

"Alex—"

"We're _done_."

"No," Michael says, hating that his voice trembles, "we aren't, Alex. Not yet. We can't be."

"Michael—"

"Please just let me tell you what's been going on," Michael says, raising his hand to grip on to him, his heart breaking all over again when Alex takes a step back.

"You want to give me more excuses to make me walk away like you're always telling me I do?" Alex asks, slapping his hands down by his sides. "Well, congratulations. You already _did_ that. You win, okay? I'll stop trying. I _did_ stop; I _left_. Why are you _here_?"

This is not _his_ Alex. His Alex always wavers when they argue after just a few words back and forth, his eyes always bright with tears that Michael hates himself for, for putting them there. _This_ Alex isn't budging, he isn't _hearing_ him. He doesn't _want_ to. _No_, Michael thinks, begging Alex as he stares at him, _please don't give up on me. Not now._

"Because you, and me, we don't ever let go of each other. Not really. Not ever, Alex. I don't know how to let you go. I thought I wanted to—that I needed to. But I can't. And I don't want to. So please," he says, quickly running his hand down Alex's arm; it's the only contact he'll allow himself to have. "Please, just… hear me out. Okay? And then if you still hate me—"

"I don't _hate_ you," Alex snarls back at him in frustration, "I never could. I never have. That's always been the problem, Guerin. I can't let you go either. And it's _killing_ me holding on like this when you… you know why."

"I'm not with her," Michael says stepping closer, aching to reach out again, "I'm not."

"It doesn't matter if you are, or aren't," Alex says, tears pooling in his eyes; Michael hates that he is relieved to see them. "You were right. We keep holding on to—"

"I was angry, and scared, and trying to get you to _leave_, Alex," Michael says, clutching on to Alex's jacket sleeve, feeling like he is back in Caulfield and his entire world is about to burn to the ground around him. He can't let go of Alex. "I keep holding on to _you_, because you're _mine_."

He _is_. Alex _is_ his. Michael could share his bed with a thousand people, but there isn't anyone else he could ever really share himself with, who he would let _know_ him like Alex does. For how much Alex's need for secrecy has wounded him over the years, Michael needs _him_, however he can have him. He can't let him walk away. This can't be _it_; it _can't_.

Alex closes his eyes; Michael thinks he's trying to control himself so he doesn't lash out. When he opens them again he is still livid, though takes a deep breath that seems to calm him. Alex's eyes linger over him in quiet consideration; Michael feels the need to hold his breath. "You look terrible."

"Well, _thanks_."

"Michael—"

"I slept in the truck last night. Waited here," he adds, waving at the bus shelter, "looking for you. I need to _talk_ to you, Alex."

Alex wants to send him away, Michael knows that he does. He's not above pleading if he has to; even if Alex only gives him an hour. Michael holds his breath again waiting for Alex's judgment, his heart thudding when he shakes his head.

"I don't have much time. I need to eat something before I go back in."

"I could eat," Michael says. He doesn't know how he'll swallow a single thing for how tightly his throat is constricted, but he'll try. _Alex_ is here. He's okay. Even if he hates him.

"I wasn't inviting."

"_Please_, Alex," Michael whispers, itching to reach for him again. He balls his fists down by his sides so that he can't.

Alex relents, though he's furious about it. "_Fine_."

"So? Where are we going?" Michael asks, his voice coming out far too high.

"There's a place near here," Alex says, waving down the street and taking off before Michael can answer. "Good sandwiches."

Michael is too relieved to say much of anything in response, jogging to catch up. "Sandwiches it is."

Alex pushes open the door of a cafe after only a couple of minutes of walking, waving Michael towards a table without another glance. Michael sits, steepling his fingers together unable to take his eyes off Alex. He's really _here_. He watches him order, far too happy to have found him to even think about what he's getting. Alex scowls across the cafe at him as he makes his way back; all Michael can do is take in how good he looks, notice his slight limp.

"Your leg okay?" he asks as Alex pulls out a chair and sits deliberately as far from him as it's possible to at a shared table.

"Fine."

"You been sat a while today?" Michael can tell he has. Alex's limp is different when he's over-exerted himself.

"Something like that."

"You—"

"What did you want to say, Michael?" Alex demands. Up close Michael can see how tired he is, as though he hasn't slept a moment since he last saw him.

"So many things."

"I don't think I want to hear any of them."

"But you just said—"

"You said you slept in your truck last night?" Alex asks, studying him more intently. He's probably right; Michael knows he must look awful. He feels it, even for a change of shirt and a quick brush of his teeth in the bathroom at McDonalds.

"Yeah. I did. And I'll do it again tonight, and again tomorrow if it means I get to talk to you. I should have talked to you back home. I'm sorry, Alex, I should've… we should've _talked_."

Alex scowl wavers but doesn't fade. "I have a really busy day."

"I'll wait."

"It's been a busy couple of days, actually."

"You came up here a couple days ago?" Michael asks, cursing himself if that's the case. Alex has been so _close_.

"There wasn't much reason to stick around."

Again Alex wounds him, but Michael is used to it, and deserves it, so doesn't flinch or retaliate. "I guess not."

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Coming back to Roswell?" Michael asks, unable to hide the hope in his voice.

"Like I said," Alex replies, "I don't have much there to keep me around."

Michael doesn't know what to think, or to say. Though he's spared from having to do either when a server comes to their table with a tray laden with food. Coffees are pushed in front of them and a plate of chips to share in between.

"Who gets the turkey salad on rye?"

"That's me," Alex says, sitting back so his elbows aren't resting on the table, to give her room.

"Which means the smoked ham, cheddar, and sweet onion relish is for you?" _Wendy_ says, sliding Michael's plate in front of him.

"It was the closest thing to ham and cheese," Alex says with a shrug when Michael looks.

"My favorite."

"Always was," Alex replies without looking, already picking up half of his own sandwich and taking a bite.

Michael is more touched than he thinks he has any right to be, taking a swig of his coffee before he can eat just to get his words under control. "Thanks, Alex."

"I don't have a lot of time right now. And to be honest, I don't think anything you want to say me now is going to change anything."

Michael now forces himself to eat, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. He takes a bite then chews and swallows it slowly, then forces himself to look Alex in the eye.

"You asking me to leave, Alex?"

"No. But I didn't ask you to come either."

"So, what do you want me to do, Alex?" Michael asks, pleading with him not to tell him to go. If he can only talk to him for five minutes. If he can at least give him a sincere apology.

Without breaking eye contact Alex leans to the side, sliding a key from his pocket that he throws on to the table by Michael's plate. "601 4th Street. North West. It's an apartment owned by the company."

"Corazon?"

Alex glares at him again. "Go take a shower, sleep, do whatever you want. I'll be back around seven."

"What time did you get there today?"

"Six," Alex replies in between bites. No wonder he missed him. And Michael had thought he'd arrived so early to wait.

"Are you sure?"

"You think I'll get any sleep tonight knowing you're out there somewhere spending the night in your _truck_?"

Michael wants to be placated, but Alex still looks too angry. He mumbles his thanks again, continuing to eat. Alex is eating fast; either he's in a hurry to be away from him already, or whatever he's doing in that building is demanding his time.

"I need to get back," Alex says once he's drained his coffee, taking another handful of chips to eat as he stands.

"Okay."

"I don't know where you'll park. Maybe there'll be a space behind my car; you'll have to ask in the reception."

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"It's barely two minutes from here. Eat," Alex says, nodding at Michael's plate as he checks his phone, "I'll see you later."

Michael watches him walk out of the cafe, and for the few seconds he can see him outside before Alex disappears. He's _found_ him. But now that he's found him, what happens next? Michael eats slowly to kill some time, checking the directions for Alex's apartment on his phone as he does.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your next [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSe1_zDFge09qgGAf_ylAe82eCONg0Tv4nO-xR-UaeiZdFx79Q/viewform)!
> 
> Also! Any names/addresses/numbers and so on in this fic are all randomly generated; I use random generators a _lot_ for these things, in case you were wondering!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> There is a slight content warning for this one regarding Michael's childhood. It really is only slight, but if you want to be prepared skip to the end note to check before reading.

The apartment feels unlived in. Michael drops the key Alex gave him on the black stone kitchen counter in passing, feeling as though he shouldn't breathe for how clean it is. And sterile. The kitchen is a bleak, black and white space like something out of a showroom. The open plan living room it looks over is similar with black furniture throughout, though instead of white is pale blue on the walls. The couch, at least, is comfortable when he tests it, sat right on the edge because he doesn't think he should make himself too at home.

Alex's toiletry bag is neat and unpacked on a shelf in the bathroom. A pile of spare bedding sits perfectly square on the end of the bed in the first bedroom he comes across. It's only in the room that Alex has chosen for himself that there is any sign of life. Michael picks up the sleeve of an orange plaid shirt slung over the back of a chair running the material between his finger and thumb trying to picture the last time he saw Alex wear it. Then accuses himself of snooping, taking one final glance around before softly closing the door.

Lost for something to do, Michael stands by the living room window looking out on the similar apartment buildings opposite and the busy street below, sure that by the evening there will be more rain. He considers going to meet Alex anyway in case there is but then decides against it, not wanting to infuriate him further. He'd love to sleep, but knows he won't for how on edge he will be until Alex arrives. So he checks the fridge, remembers Alex said he was leaving tomorrow, and puts a list together so he can at least make him something to eat tonight.

Michael makes his way back downstairs, paying more attention to Alex's car before he climbs into the truck; he'd barely glanced at it on the way in. The car is clean, as he would expect a vehicle of Alex's to be, though to Michael the whole thing looks _tired_. The car sits a little lower than it should, making him think something must be up with the suspension, and one quick glance at the trunk tells him it doesn't close right. Michael considers giving the car a more thorough once over to see if anything needs fixing. Though as he steps back to take another look, a car swings into the parking lot making him jump back. Michael rolls his eyes, barely resists flipping the driver off, and far more carefully drives out on to the road.

There is thankfully a small supermarket not all that far away. Michael wanders the aisles picking up chips he knows are Alex's favorites, some berries, and some far better coffee than he found in Alex's kitchen cupboard. He can't even picture what Alex must have eaten the past couple of days for how little he has in. He assumes oatmeal for breakfast from the bag of oats he found on the side, and thinks from the pitiful pack of trail mix in the cupboard that Alex has either been too tired or busy to even snack.

Michael decides on fajitas for dinner, returning Alex's favor of remembering _his_ favorite sandwich for a meal that he knows is his. He can't help think of the few times they've had fajitas together; not because the meal is particularly special itself, but because the restaurant they've had it in before has always, to Michael, made the shared meal feel like a date. There haven't been nearly enough moments that they've shared like that together. The restaurant is a tiny place with only six tables, about a half hour's drive south of Roswell. Michael hopes the place is still there; as he thinks about it, he realizes they haven't been there in more than three years.

This meal will be an olive branch and a token gesture, but Michael is hoping that it will placate Alex just enough to let him say what he needs to say. Which he starts rehearsing on his way to the checkout, fighting with his overloaded basket as it digs into his arm. He pays by card, which of course makes him think of Isobel. He sends her a quick text once back in the truck before making his way back to the apartment, quickly putting together what he can in advance for their meal.

The shower he takes after is one of the best he's been in for a while. Michael's thoughts wander to motel rooms shared with Alex and more importantly the showers they've shared, forcing the memories away only to replace them by wondering how Alex does in the shower these days with his leg. Michael is both sad and angry with himself that he doesn't already know, that he hasn't asked, or experienced a shower with Alex recently himself.

Purposely, Michael already has dinner practically ready for when Alex arrives. He smiles at Alex quickly as he walks in though busies himself rushing between laying the table and checking the pan on the stove in case Alex doesn't want to smile back. When Alex drops his bag down on the kitchen counter next to his key, Michael pulls two beers from the fridge quickly uncapping them, hesitating before pushing one into Alex's hand.

"You didn't have to cook."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to," Michael says as he switches off the heat, averting his eyes so he doesn't have to see if Alex is angry for him doing so.

"It smells great," Alex tells him. Michael finishes spooning the chicken into a dish and takes a chance on looking up, catching Alex's small smile as he adds, "thank you."

"Gotta eat, both of us."

"I was just going to order a pizza, or something. I ate there the past couple of nights."

Michael pulls out a chair at the dining table gesturing for Alex to sit in it, wanting to ask more about what kind of place _there_ is but resisting. He's glad that Alex sits without protest, though can't help worrying a little when he sees the way Alex sinks into his chair in relief. "Long day, huh?"

"Four long days. Thankfully, tomorrow I just need to go in to sign some documents. Then I'm done."

Again Michael bites his tongue. Though the look on Alex's face when he joins him at the table says he knows he wants to _ask_. Michael watches Alex brace his hands against the table edge and stretch before picking up his beer, telling himself to be patient as he sits.

"So you said you were in a foster home here once? Albuquerque?"

Typical Alex avoidance, Michael thinks, familiar with the way he shifts the focus from himself. "Well. I wouldn't say it was much of a _home_. But sure. Yeah, I was."

"The, uh… meth heads?" Alex adds uncertainly. How does he always remember everything he tells him?

"Yeah," Michael says. Because there are some things he'd really rather forget. He nods for Alex to start eating, watching him carefully prepare his first fajita not sure of what to say.

"Well. What was that like?"

"Honestly? Hell," Michael says, wanting to be open with him. "Some of the homes just all blur into one, you know? Like I can't separate anything that happened in any of them out. But that place? I wake up thinking about it sometimes."

"You never said. You never said anything about any of it."

Alex's words come out as an accusation which is both fair and not at all. For all they've talked over the years in the snatched moments they've had together, Michael has never been one to talk about his _problems_. But nobody has ever really _asked_.

"I remember being hungry a lot," he says, ignoring the way his stomach clenches as though he is reliving that hunger. "I remember waiting until they'd passed out to grab whatever food was around. Usually a _lot_ of take out. Pizza, burgers; that kind of stuff. Not sure I saw a vegetable the entire time I was there."

Alex intently watches as he loads up his fajita with extra pepper, which Michael pretends not to notice.

"And I remember… there was this cupboard in my room I would hide in, with this missing handle, so you had to put your finger in to turn and open it. _My_ fingers; theirs were too big. Not that they ever really wanted to. Not like they'd be able to open it anyway. Probably couldn't even see the door for how out of it they were."

Alex looks horrified; Michael wishes he hadn't opened his mouth. "Why were you in the cupboard?"

"They never hit me, or anything," he says in reassurance; as awful as that particular home had been, it was one of the few places he wasn't hit. "But they were loud, and angry all the time. And I don't know; I didn't really like being around them when they were so spaced out. Which was pretty much all the time."

Alex nods like he is thinking. Michael feels like he's said more than enough, so concentrates on mopping up a spill of sauce on his plate with his thumb, ignoring the silence between them growing uncomfortable and making a second fajita.

"When I came back to Roswell, to the base, I guess you could say I was being stubborn. Family trait."

"Well, I didn't want to say," Michael says, hoping teasing is still something he can do, and thankful at least that Alex has _something_ to say to him. Alex gives him a thin smile that doesn't tell him to stop, though doesn't quite encourage him either.

"After the accident, I could have taken an honorable discharge at any point, without completing my tour. I wanted to finish my tour. Even if that meant desk duty."

Michael carefully takes his time to answer, a part of him angry that Alex would even want to stay in the Air Force after losing his leg, when he didn't have to. "I guess we never talked about that. I probably should've asked."

"You never much liked talking about the Air Force, or anything military," Alex says with a shrug. These words aren't an accusation, but Michael still feels guilt for them. Alex notices, giving that guilt a dismissive wave. "Anyway. The moment I came back, I knew I'd have to start considering what I'd do once I left. I got my resume in order, was approached by a few tech companies—"

"You were headhunted," Michael says, filled with pride for him. Of course Alex would be headhunted.

"I received some offers," Alex says, not really acknowledging Michael's choice of words. "Corazon was one of them. I put them off—all of them off, really. I didn't know what I wanted, or what I was looking for. I didn't know if I was ready for any of it. The only thing I thought about more than once was taking a break before doing anything new."

"You could have done. Not like you haven't earned it."

"That was the plan," Alex agrees, "I guess things changed. I guess things were changed for me."

Fresh guilt hits Michael. "Alex, I'm s—"

"It's fine. It's good," Alex says, once again waving his words away. "I was just stalling. I needed to make a decision, and I couldn't. All of _that_ helped me, really. I called these guys back not long after, got asked to come down here for some mandatory training. It was quick."

"I'll say. What's it for?"

"What?"

"The work? Job? Whatever it is you're training for?"

"Cybersecurity. Codebreaking. It's a few things, really. A lot of stuff I can't talk about," Alex adds with a pointed look. It occurs to Michael then that Alex's fury at seeing him stood outside the Corazon building earlier might have had more to do with that _stuff_ than just being angry at him. Michael holds on to a hope that it was at least part of the reason.

"But you said you're leaving tomorrow," he says, reminded of Alec's earlier words at lunch. "So, it's not a job that's here."

"It's not a job that's anywhere," Alex tells him, "it's basically a work from home job. Work from anywhere, really."

"Well. That sounds pretty great," Michael says after he's got his head around what Alex is saying; even if he doesn't fully understand.

"It is," Alex agrees with a hard blasted out breath as though he is both picturing something and relieved about being able to say what he's doing out loud. "It means I can work from anywhere. So, I can still take a break from Roswell. Maybe find somewhere else to stop; at least for a while."

Michael's heart begins to race in protest. "Wait. What?"

"I came here to train, and collect the equipment I need. A laptop, tablet, some other technology. But I'm taking off. Going… away. I need to put some space between me and Roswell. Not just because of you. And _Maria_," Alex adds, his voice twisting on her name. Michael hates the thought that they have caused him so much hurt.

"About that—"

"I don't want to hear it."

"But—"

"I _can't_," Alex says, with desperation in his eyes, "at least, not now."

"There isn't much to tell anyway—"

"_Please_."

Michael's blood runs cold for the anguish on Alex's face, stealing his appetite and making him want to reach out, comfort him somehow. "Okay. Okay, I'm sorry."

"It's my fault anyway," Alex says then, avoiding his eyes. "I was the one who said I wanted to be _friends_. I guess I should have been clear that I didn't mean _only_. But… that's all done now."

"It's not _done_. I didn't know—"

"_Please_, Michael," Alex says again, softer and with his eyes just as bright. Michael doesn't know if he'll be able to keep sat where he is if he starts to cry.

"Okay. Eat something," he says for a change of subject, nodding towards Alex's plate. It takes Alex a couple of attempts but once he's taken a couple of bites, he starts to relax again.

"So. You said you found a business card? For Corazon? At Project Shepherd?" Alex says after more awkward silence that Michael doesn't know how to fill.

"I did. Kyle came to tell me you'd gone. I went to your cabin, and the Project Shepherd one. Your _base_. _Kyle_ said to ask for someone named Blake. He was _delightful_," Michael adds, washing back the distaste he feels for both of those names currently.

Alex studies him for far too long without speaking. Michael squirms for it but won't let himself look away. "Blake was the closest person I had to a friend at the base, though that's really stretching things. Most people there didn't like me all that much because I wasn't this big _hero_, and I wasn't my dad. And because I made it obvious I didn't _want_ to be like my dad."

"Got it."

"I never really intended for you to have to go there," Alex adds, frowning to himself. "I guess I… I don't know."

Michael nods, trying to anticipate Alex's reaction to what he wants to say next. "Yeah, well. He mentioned something about me being, I don't know… next of kin? For you, I mean."

"Soon as my month is up, that won't be your problem anymore. It's not your problem anyway."

"Hey. It's not a problem."

"I should have asked. I'm sorry that I didn't."

"It's not a problem," Michael repeats. "Just don't go do anything stupid on me like… well. Anything that makes me need to do something as next of kin."

"I don't know if they'd have paid all that much attention anyway," Alex says, rolling his eyes. "When I was in hospital with my leg, I told them I didn't want my dad anywhere near me. He was still the one they called."

The fajita Michael is holding on to slips from his hand with his surprise, flying open and half-scattering across his plate. He keeps his eyes on the plate as he puts it back together, needing to compose himself before looking up. "So. I was down at your next of kin before you got back?"

Alec nods, staring back at him.

"How long was I down as your next of kin, Alex?"

"Since I first left."

Blood rushes in Michael's ears as he tries to understand what Alex is telling him. He can't process it at all.

"Like I said. I should have asked. It was stupid, anyway," Alex adds, going back to his food, "everyone just knew me as _that_ Manes. The only one of _Jesse_ Manes' sons he could never be proud of having, that he always felt the need to _keep in line_. Wouldn't have mattered what I wanted. And besides. I was a kid when I left here, asking for that. I was stupid."

"I don't think it was stupid." He _doesn't_. Michael feels the strangest sense of being _grounded_ for Alex ever thinking he was that important to him.

"I just figured, if anything happened to me, then even if they wouldn't contact you as _that_, maybe they'd at least let you know? I don't know; back then, I figured you'd want to know."

"I did. I _do_. Not that I want anything to happen to you—"

"Doesn't matter now," Alex says, shaking his head. "Did you find anything at Project Shepherd?"

"I—no, not really," Michael replies, frustrated for the change of subject, and confused by Alex's tone. "I found a bunch of papers. That's where I found the card. Got them in the trunk."

Alex slowly lowers his fork back to his plate, taking his time to swallow. "Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I was hoping for some idea of where you might be going."

"And?"

"I… thought maybe Arizona? Saw a list of Air Force bases. Thought maybe you were going to some of your old bases, or something. Say goodbye to a few folk; I don't know. But then _Max_ called, said he'd put word out to look for you. Heard you were headed here. Saw the card again; put two and two together."

"Max was looking for me?"

"_I_ was. I didn't ask him to do anything, but, you know Max. Don't be mad at Max," Michael adds when Alex scowls. "He didn't mean anything by it. He was just… looking out."

A ripple of _something_ crosses Alex face. Michael is desperate to ask what he's thinking but again won't, leaving them to fall into silence once again.

"How is he?" Alex asks as he drains his beer, toying with his plate in a way that makes Michael think he is finished.

"Getting there. _Real_ tired though. Keeps talking about going back to work. Don't know how that'll happen when he can barely stay awake for more than a couple of hours."

"And Isobel?"

"Doing the best she can do." Michael intends to message her again at some point this evening, just to check in.

"I should clean up," Alex says out of nowhere after yet more silence, standing abruptly enough for the table to squeak against the floor. Michael chases him across the kitchen, taking his plate from his hand. "Thank you for dinner."

"It's fine. I can do it."

"So can I," Alex retorts, glaring at him in defiance. Michael backs away with his hands up, but still clears the table as Alex fills the sink to wash the dishes, stacking them by his side and grabbing a dishtowel.

"There's a piece of your ship in my cabin," Alex says as he rolls up his sleeves, checking the warmth of the water. "You should pick it up when you go back to Roswell."

It takes a couple of seconds for Alex's words to sink in for Michael. "What?"

"I should have given you it when you showed me your bunker," Alex says with a grim smile that Michael only half-sees for watching him in profile, since Alex doesn't turn around. "I don't know; I guess I was worried back then, that the more pieces you had, the closer you'd be to leaving. I didn't want you to. It was selfish. I'm sorry."

Michael again is struck with the sense of having his words stolen from him, picking up the first dish to dry in a daze. Though it catches up with him then that Alex is assuming he's going back. "We'll deal with that later. But I'm not going back to Roswell. I'm not." Not without _you_.

"Well, what are you going to do then?" Alex asks, his words dripping with sarcasm. "Set up some kind of scrapyard mechanics thing here in Albuquerque? Go back to school? Tend bar?"

"I'm not staying in Albuquerque either."

"You do what you want."

"I'm coming with you," Michael says watching Alex's movements become jerkier and jolted as he angers, "wherever it is you're going."

"No. You aren't."

"What are you gonna do to stop me?" Michael demands in a panic, earning himself a burst of indignant laughter.

"So you're telling me that if I'm asking you not to follow me, you're still going to, no matter what I want?"

"Is that what you want?" Michael asks, pleading with Alex not to send him away.

"I took this job to get away from you. Not just you," Alex says, frowning. "But to start over. To put my dad, and… so many things behind me. I can't do that if you're tagging along. I need to start over, just for me."

"Well. Maybe I just need a break too," Michael says, frantic for the thought of having to watch Alex walk away from him. _Again_. "Did you think of that?"

"I have things to do."

"I know. You'll be working too, right? I can do stuff while you're doing that. I can… I won't get in the way. C'mon, Alex. Didn't we used to always talk about going off on a road trip together?"

There were _hours_ spent when Alex returned to Roswell on leave when they spoke of little else. All these landmarks the two of them wanted to see together, all the stars they pictured falling asleep under. All the love they'd have made along the way. If only they'd have had the courage to do any of that long before now.

"That's not what this is," Alex tells him, his words clipped. "And we're not—we're not like _that_ anymore."

"Well, we can learn to be friends like you said you wanted," Michael says, clinging on to anything he can so he can stay with him.

Alex grips the edge of the sink and braces against it, letting his head drop. "I don't know if you and I can ever just be friends."

"But we could try," Michael says, even if he agrees with him. How can they only ever be that to one another? It's impossible.

"Michael—"

"C'mon, Alex," Michael says, playfully hitting him with the dishtowel even if he's terrified Alex might be about to tell him to leave right now. "We can at least try it for a couple of days—weeks. If you want to send me away after that, then I'll go. But let's at least try first?"

"What about Isobel? And Max?" Alex wants to add _and Maria_, Michael can feel that he does.

"Max and Isobel have already text me a bunch of times, and will keep bugging me if they don't hear from me; though it's not like I haven't been texting them back. Or won't, wherever we end up going. So, aside from the Airstream, I've got nothing else I need to get back to in Roswell either."

Alex stares at him but says nothing, putting Michael even more on edge.

"Let's just try it, alright? I promise I won't get in the way of your top-secret, classified work stuff. And I promise that, let's say, if after two weeks you're sick of me, I'll leave. No protests. Nothing."

"I'm going in my car," Alex tells him just as the silence stretches out to a point where Michael doesn't think he can take waiting anymore. Michael sags in relief but quickly hides it by spinning away to put the cutlery back in its drawer.

"How many miles has that thing done?"

"207,000."

"_How_ many?" Michael asks, incredulous. Alex is planning on going off on some random drive who knows where in a car that's done all _that_?

Alec rolls his eyes, but there is an indignant tension rolling across his shoulders. "It's fine. It got me here."

"Oh, yeah?"

"_Yes_."

Michael waits, knowing that staring at him without saying a word is either going to rile Alex up to make him mad enough to walk away, or will be just enough to make him talk. Since Alex looks so tired, Michael already thinks he knows which way that is going to fall.

"So maybe it stopped twice on the drive here…"

"It's a three-hour drive and it stopped twice?" Michael asks, laughing. "Yeah, Alex. That is a _real_ reliable car."

"Well. I didn't pay much for it. I got a discount _for my service_. And because the dealer likes my dad. He's good for something, at least."

"I guess so."

"Look," Alex says then, with his hand up to stop Michael talking. "I need _space_. I didn't… I didn't set off thinking I'd have _company_. I don't _want_ it."

"So? I'll follow in my truck. For _two weeks_. If you want me gone by then, I'll need a way to leave anyway, right?" This doesn't seem much of a solution to Michael, to give him the chance to talk to Alex, but at least they'll have _some_ time together when they stop to eat, or sleep. He wants so much more than that, but Alex looks so _raw_ right now. He can't push for more than he'll give.

"I don't know."

"Look at it this way," Michael says changing tactic. "If I'm following, and your _wonderfully_ reliable car breaks down or anything, I can take a look for you. Maybe fix it."

Alex rolls his eyes, but Michael knows he's won even before he says a word. "I want to set off early tomorrow."

"Fine with me."

"I need to go in for maybe ten minutes."

"Okay."

"I want to sleep early," Alex adds, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "If we're leaving early—"

"Makes sense," Michael says wanting to make it easier for him; even if what he'd hoped for this evening was that they would _talk_. "Not like I couldn't do with a decent sleep either."

"Fine." Alex closes his eyes in defeat, gripping the edge of the counter. "There's bedding in the spare room. Or there's the couch. Do what you want."

Alex stiffly walks away from him leaving Michael stranded for having so much more to say. He waits until he hears Alex's bedroom door click closed before quietly going to retrieve the bedding from the spare room, making himself a bed up on the couch. Then listens as Alex goes about whatever he is doing, half-hoping he'll come back through to talk. Which he doesn't.

* * *

Michael wakes to the sound of dishes being put on the table, disoriented and forgetting where he is. He jumps up when he remembers, skidding across the living room to the kitchen before remembering he's only wearing boxers. Alex turns as he hears him, looking him up and down without commenting on his attire. Alex is already fully dressed; he really does mean to be leaving soon.

"Morning."

"Hey, Alex. I'll just throw some clothes on," Michael says as he skids away again, quickly pulling clothes from his bag and dressing out of Alex's sight.

"This coffee is good," Alex says when he returns, sliding him a cup beside a waiting bowl at the table.

"We'll take it with us. And the chips."

Alex's jaw clenches but he says nothing, turning away to pick up a pan. He spoons out two large bowls of oatmeal returning the pan to the sink and filling it with water, joining Michael at the table and immediately starting to eat. The berries Michael bought yesterday are in a dish between them. Alex waves for Michael to take some first before tipping the remainder into his own bowl. He doesn't seem to be in the mood for talking; Michael watches him take spoonfuls of his oatmeal in between apparently transferring the contents of an old wallet into a new one.

Michael continues to watch carefully folded pieces of paper being slotted inside, along with cash and cards, and then a card with the Corazon symbol on. There is still a small stack of things to go through that Alex seems reluctant to touch.

"My last wallet fell apart when I moved the Airstream," Michael says, desperate to make any kind of conversation. "Found all kinds of crap in there. Must've had it years."

Alex nods, thumb and finger paused over the top of the pile before he makes himself pick it up. Michael thinks there are receipts, and what looks like a handwritten letter that Alex lingers over long enough for him to wonder if it was the goodbye letter his mom had left on his pillow. There is a tattered photo of what Michael assumes is Alex's unit, or squadron, or whatever it's called. And to his surprise, there is an old, torn photobooth picture of _them_.

Michael remembers taking the pictures, of climbing into that booth so carefree and unbothered by life, euphoric, almost, for having each other. They were kids, each other's first loves; back then they had every right to be smiling as hard as they are in that picture. Two of the pictures came out so blurry for them laughing and trying to adjust the seat, but the other he still has in the Airstream somewhere. He'd just never expected Alex to hold on to his one.

"I always kept it," Alex says without prompting as though he can feel Michael looking. "I don't know; I guess it helped me remember you? When I used to worry I'd forget what you looked like. Like I ever could."

Again Michael is lost for words, though he watches as Alex deliberately pushes the photo to one side and snaps closed his wallet. He stands and throws everything else he doesn't need into the trash, scraping his bowl clean of oatmeal while beside the table.

"I need to go in," he says then, checking his phone then pushing his wallet in his back jean pocket as he drains his coffee. "I'll be back soon."

"Okay," Michael says quickly finishing his own breakfast, standing to wash their dishes. He doesn't turn around again as Alex passes behind him then leaves. Though when he does look that photo of them from the booth is neither in the trash nor on the table where Alex had left it. Michael decides to take it as a sign of hope.

Alex is back within an hour. Michael already has his bag stashed in his truck and everything from the kitchen packed, ready to go, so there won't be any delays. There is Alex's trail mix and the chips he'd bought yesterday, the coffee carefully sealed so it doesn't spill, and a bottle of water for Alex. Michael has refilled his own from the faucet, and the remaining beers from the six-pack he bought last night will go with them too. This all feels so wrong, so undecided and hurried. And yet there is no other option he knows.

"I'll need to stop for gas. Figured we could pick up some supplies then," Alex adds as he takes in what there is waiting to go from the kitchen.

"Okay."

"I'll get my bag."

Michael grabs everything so Alex won't have anything additional to carry, knowing he'll need a hand free to lock up. He trails behind him as he does, stands to the side as Alex returns the key to the reception desk, then follows him out to the parking lot.

"So. Are you heading anywhere in particular, or just… picking a direction?" Michael asks once Alex has his bag in the trunk of his car. How is that thing going to make it anywhere?

"Taking the I40, for now."

"And then?"

"We'll see," Alex says glancing over his car; Michael _knows_ even he's doubting he'll make it far in it, but also knows how stubborn he is.

"Okay, Alex," he says, opening the door of his truck, "let's hit the road."

* * *

Michael has the sneaking suspicion that Alex's car wants to stop at every single possible point on the I40, his foot resting over the brake pedal constantly in case he has to yet again follow Alex to the side of the road. It first overheats in Grants, Alex avoiding his eyes until the second Michael opens his mouth to offer that he takes a look. Michael thinks Alex's scowling at the car is what gets it moving again through pure fear of what he might do to it.

They stop again in Gallup, and then in Lupton. Michael pretends they're only there to see the sights when they have to pull over at the Petrified Forest National Park for the grinding noise coming from Alex's car engine, which stops the second they park up. The car then limps through to Holbrook five hours after leaving Albuquerque; Alex is gracious enough to suggest they stop for a late lunch. He even grunts in agreement when Michael finds a more tactful way to ask if he can help.

When they get back to Roswell, whenever that may be, Michael intends on visiting the moron who sold Alex this car. He would normally call Alex out for not even taking a look before driving off in it; there are at least fifteen things wrong with the thing that Michael spots just by popping the hood. Alex has driven all kinds of vehicles, surely. How would he let himself get duped into _this_?

They stop again in Joseph City despite Michael's best efforts to at least patch the car up. And then again in Winslow, where he is very tempted to _kick_ the damn car. They limp along a little further only having to stop in Winona, where Alex first glares at him as if daring Michael to say anything, then curses at the sky calling himself an idiot, as well as a few other choice words. Michael gets it going yet again, but from the noise the car is making he's not sure how much more it can take.

But it's in Flagstaff when Alex really looks defeated, when the car splutters to a stop and practically groans out a plea asking for no more. They've been on the road for nine hours now. Michael works out a quick route in his head and thinks it should have been closer to five. Wordlessly they push the car along a little further so that it won't be in the way of traffic. Alex sits on the hood, waving to tell Michael he's staying put when he goes back for his truck.

Michael catches him rubbing his leg when he gets back to him, and it takes strength he doesn't know he had not to ask if he's doing okay. But they can't keep going like this. He clears his throat, leaning on the other side of the hood beside Alex, scraping his boot in the dirt without looking at him.

"So, Alex? What do you want to do now?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning_ Michael's time in a foster home is mentioned; nothing violent happens to Michael in the memory he is sharing, but he does refer to a situation where he was scared; there is also an offhand reference about him being hit at other homes.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Here's your next [survey](https://forms.gle/JyYLpq8ETuhWkcDG9)!


	6. Chapter 6

Michael finds Alex a little after seven, sat in the bar he'd told him to wait in nursing a beer with a scowl on his face that he can't help smile at. When he'd asked him earlier what he wanted to do, Alex had pushed his car keys into Michael's hand and stomped off, muttering to _do whatever the hell you want with it_ without even looking back.

Michael doesn't think he's done _bad_ with his time in the couple of hours he's been gone, though had assumed Alex's time would have been more productive. The laptop bag Michael had followed him into the bar with remains unopened by his side. Alex doesn't look like he's done much except stare at his glass. He raises his head when Michael approaches, though from the look on his face he doesn't even see him.

"Alex? You okay?"

"Sure." Alex goes back to studying his glass, his thumb tracing in a spill of beer on the table.

"Really?"

Alex sighs as Michael sits down opposite. "What happened with the car?"

Michael can only hope he's done the right thing. Though he braces for Alex to be mad at him either way. "You said I could do anything with it that I wanted, right?"

"Right."

"And you know I'd only do something in your best interests. For this car, I mean," Michael adds, waiting for Alex's eyes to narrow. Which they don't.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Alex. There was nothing I could do to fix it. I tried a bunch of times."

"I know," Alex agrees as he licks his lips, "I was with you when you tried. Thank you."

"Well. Hear me out, before you get mad at me."

Alex gives him a flicker of a smile, nodding, which Michael doesn't particularly expect to receive. It throws him a little, making him pause before continuing to talk.

"I think, for now, maybe you should let me drive. My truck. Means you can work while we're driving if you need to, and you can… it's less pressure on your leg. Now, if you don't want that, I get it. And we can head out tomorrow and find a better car for you."

"Tomorrow?" Alex repeats. Michael holds his hand up asking that he lets him finish speaking.

"It's a little late to keep driving now; if you wanted to _get_ anywhere, anyway. Besides, I'll get back to that," he tells him, "I will. Just… I sold your car, Alex. I did. I transferred all your stuff to the truck, so don't worry; you haven't lost anything. But it was a heap of junk. Honestly, I'm kind of impressed that it got you this far."

Alex stretches against the table then picks up his beer to sip from. "I let myself get talked into a really shitty car, didn't I?"

"Yeah, Alex, you did," Michael agrees, fighting back the urge to berate him and ask questions. He _knows_ why Alex didn't take the time to check anything like he would normally. "I guess you were in a hurry to be gone."

"I was."

"But out of interest, how much did you pay for that thing?" Michael asks. He should have got the damn thing for _free_ in his opinion.

"Not much."

"How much is _not much_?"

Alex sighs, though Michael is relieved to see he is half-smiling. "Eight?"

"Please tell me eight whole dollars…"

"It wasn't _that_ bad," Alex says, laughing; it's been so long since he heard him laughing that the sound is strange to Michael's ears. He wants to hear _more_ of it. "And eight hundred dollars isn't that bad. I guess?"

Michael has a lot to say about any price for a car that barely moves, but doesn't say any of them. "Well. I got you a good chunk of that back."

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. "How?"

"I just did."

"So, how much?" Alex asks, now curious as he looks at him.

"I got you four hundred. Which, believe me, took a _lot_ of persuading," Michael adds, pulling the envelope with Alec's cash in it from where it's been tucked inside his shirt.

"Seriously?" Alex says as he slides it across the table to him, staring at the envelope in surprise. "That much?"

"Yeah."

"Do I… do we need to leave town quickly, or something now?"

Michael takes his turn to laugh. "No. It's all done, properly. Nothing to worry about."

"Wait." Alex narrows his eyes in suspicion, staring back at Michael and in doing so pinning him in place.

"What?"

"Didn't I need to sign anything? Papers, or something?"

"Well. Aside from your insurance, which you should probably call, no. Did all that."

"...how?"

"So maybe I know your signature," Michael says, clearing his throat and trying to look away from him. Which he can't.

Alex blinks at him as he stares back, fingers splayed over the envelope. "...you forged my _signature_?"

"To sell your heap of a car. Not like, take out a bank loan in your name, or something."

Alex continues to stare at him, hard enough to make Michael squirm in his seat.

"And I booked somewhere to stay tonight," Michael adds, "it's why I said we can look for a car tomorrow, if you want. You've been on the road all day; can't tell me your leg isn't hurting you."

Michael watches Alex's hand automatically drop to his leg before he lets out a hard sigh and nods back at him.

"Take the money out of this," Alex says, opening the envelope. At least he isn't objecting.

"No, it's fine."

"Michael. I have savings. I have _income_. And you're right; I could do with resting somewhere for the night. Why shouldn't I pay for somewhere?"

"I also have a little _savings_," Michael retorts, "and an _income_. If I need one. Maybe I can get rich on the side of the road fixing cars like yours."

"I'm serious," Alex says, even as he rolls his eyes and smiles at him, "I have no intention of sleeping in a car, or any other vehicle."

"Good. You need a bed. Which you now _have_."

"But—"

"I paid for somewhere, okay?" Michael says. "Nothing special. We can take it in turns if you want. To pay, I mean. And don't get too excited on me, it's really nothing special. Some train spotting convention in town, or something. I picked the cleanest room I could find."

"You have savings?" Alex asks, narrowing his eyes. Michael bristles for it; why does he sound so surprised?

"I know all of you like to think I'm incapable of taking care of myself in any kind of way, but _yeah_, Alex. I make enough. I got a bit put by." Most days Michael has no interest in whether the world around him finds him capable or not, but sometimes he just wishes they could look at him with better eyes. Less assuming ones.

"I never said you were _incapable_."

"Whatever," Michael replies, not wanting to rehash an old hurt between them. "My point is, I'm okay for money. And if it makes you feel any better, tonight's technically on Noah."

"Noah?" Alex repeats, shaking his head not understanding him before his expression clears. "Oh. Insurance policies or something for Isobel?"

"How'd you know about Noah, anyway?" Michael asks, first wondering why Alex's first thought would go to _insurance policies_. Is this the normal assumption to make for things like this?

"Kyle."

"_Valenti_ come running to tell you everything?" Michael retorts. He'd tried saying _Kyle_ to be polite about Alex's _friend_, but now the word is just too bitter on his tongue. He can spit out his surname far easier.

Alex only folds his arms and stares at him, saying nothing, which only infuriates Michael more.

"Is he in training to be your lap dog, or something?"

"Does he look like a beagle to you?"

Michael opens his mouth to snipe back at him but stumbles over Alex's choice of words before he can.

"He's not that bad," Alex adds. "We're all a lot different now. And besides. It's not like I've got anyone else in Roswell."

"Hey. You've got people there," Michael says. You've got _me_, he wants to add. Though for the look on Alex's face he decides not to. "Also. We should probably eat. Guy I sold the car to recommended a place. Maybe we can dump our bags and head off?"

That Alex again offers no objection worries Michael a little, still braced for an argument at least. When Alex only drains his beer and dejectedly pushes himself to his feet, Michael half-wants to reach out to check for his temperature, or something. He watches Alex swing his laptop bag over his head then step away from the table, neatly tucking his chair behind.

"Okay. After you, I guess."

Michael leads him back out to the truck, thankful the place they're staying in isn't too far away. It's a budget inn with everything on one floor, arranged in a c-shape around a well-lit parking lot. When Michael parks up he does so directly outside the room, debating with himself if he'll even take his bags inside. Maybe Alex won't be comfortable sharing such a small space with him. He can shower, take the spare bedding, and sleep in the truck for the night if he needs to.

He lets them into the room with his words for Alex already planned. "I meant it when I said there were like, two rooms available in this place. And I figured you wouldn't want to spend half the night just looking for somewhere."

Alex drops his laptop bag down on the tiny two-chaired table on one side of the room, looking over the space that is theirs for the evening. Or just his. The staff have taken out the additional chair and desk that was in the room when Michael saw it earlier and pushed in a fold-up bed in its place. Michael's bedding for the night sits precariously on top of it, matching the red and orange squared coloring of the comforter on the bed. The bed is little more than a queen, and though he and Alex have shared far smaller beds together, there is no way they will be doing that here. Even if part of Michael wants to.

"I got some stuff in for breakfast, and more water. Milk. Just some stuff to keep us going," Michael says as he waves towards the small kitchenette at the end of the room. They'd intended picking up some more things earlier when stopping for gas, but the disaster of Alex's car pushed the idea from their minds.

"Michael—"

"Bathroom's through here," Michael adds opening the bathroom door. "I don't know if you want it, or anything, but the bath's pretty low. And there's a shower, obviously. Towels and stuff."

Alex continues to look around the room as he drops his other bag on to the bed, finally turning to look at Michael. Alex has always been able to _question_ him without even opening his mouth; today is no different.

"I thought, if it's okay with you, I'll sleep on this fold-out," Michael tells him, already across the room and tugging on the frame. He won't lower it yet though, leaving the choice entirely up to Alex. "If not, after dinner, I'll grab a quick shower and then leave you to it. If you need to work, or whatever, or just… you know. Need to do whatever."

"You're not sleeping out _there_. Especially since you paid for in here."

"Slept in way worse."

"Yeah, well, you aren't with me. You aren't tonight," Alex tells him. Michael doesn't know what to make of the way his voice is shaking.

"Okay," he says, handing Alex the key, "you do what you need to. I'll go wait in the truck. For us to leave for dinner, I mean."

Alex swallows uncomfortably, his eyes darting over Michael's face. He is so torn, and in being so is making Michael feel the same. Michael leaves before he can overthink things further, turning his face skywards and sucking in fresh air to calm himself.

* * *

"How hungry are you?" Alex asks as they pick up their menus the moment they are seated.

_The Cottage_ is a French bistro that Michael knows in seconds is exactly the kind of place Isobel would love. The walls and tablecloths are white, while the furniture and table dressings are all a deep, rich blue. On the back wall there is an old map of Paris that Michael wants to study further. Or he would do, if his stomach wasn't protesting to be filled.

"Pretty hungry."

"Everything looks so good," Alex says, looking pretty hungry himself. Michael doubts he's eaten much these past few days from what he's told him.

"One of everything, then?"

"No, maybe not," Alex replies still reading the menu. "I was thinking the bourguignon for me, and we could share some sides."

"I think it's the pork tenderloin for me," Michael tells him, though every single thing on the menu looks good.

"Beans? Potatoes?"

"Anything you want. I'll eat it."

Since their waiter is already hovering they order quickly, thankful for the beers brought over almost immediately.

"I didn't realize this place would be quite this _fancy_," Michael says as he takes another look around. He wishes they were there under better circumstances, and that this was a date.

"It's nice. Maybe we earned it after today. Thank you," Alex adds, both smiling and frowning at him.

"It was a long one. I'm glad we got to stop somewhere before that thing broke down altogether in the middle of nowhere."

Alex sags against the table, nodding. "I guess once I got to Albuquerque, I was busy enough to forget how bad the car was."

"I thought the damn thing was going to fall apart when we hooked it up to the tow truck," Michael tells him, relieved that the few things he could do with his powers to temporarily fix the car were enough to get it off Alex's hands. He's glad Alex was elsewhere for when he arranged that, sure his nerves were already enough on edge not to be worrying there alongside him.

"I still can't believe you got so much for it."

"Neither can I," Michael agrees, laughing. "Guess the guy was feeling generous."

"Well. Thank you," Alex says again with a twitch of a smile. "Today was… I think it would have been far worse if you hadn't been there. So… thanks."

As they wait, and over their dinner, Alex tells him more about Corazon, and the kind of work he'll be expected to do. He asks about Isobel and Max, with Michael filling in some of the details Alex has missed, that Kyle either didn't know, or didn't get around to telling him. Though it's when they have finished and are making their way outside far too full to be walking too quickly, that Alex notices Michael's hand. Alex goes to reach for him before Michael can round the truck but stops himself, his hands awkwardly twitching down by his sides.

"Max healed you?"

"Yeah."

"And it's… okay now?" Alex asks as they climb in. Michael doesn't really know what to say, so holds his hand up for him to look at.

"Almost good as new. Don't look too bad. Biggest thing is it doesn't ache anymore, or spasm. Used to keep me awake sometimes," Michael adds without meaning to. The devastation on Alex's face makes his blood run cold.

"And all these years, Max wouldn't fix it?"

"I didn't want him to."

"But _why_?"

"Alex. Max, and Isobel and me, we've kept this secret of who, and what we are for twenty _years_. I couldn't—if I'd shown up with my hand all fixed after your dad—"

Michael stops talking for how violently Alex shudders for his words. What else is he supposed to say?

"But you were _hurting_. All those years?" Alex says, his voice cracking and his eyes filling with tears. "All those years when you didn't need to be?"

Michael starts up the engine not knowing what else to do. "It didn't hurt all the time. Just ached. I got used to—"

"You couldn't even go to a _hospital_. Because of this _secret_," Alex hisses, backhanding tears from his eyes and looking torn between furious and inconsolable.

"It's fine, Alex."

"But how did you deal with all that pain?" Alex asks, then whips his head around from staring out the windshield to look at him, his gaze boring into the side of Michael's face. "Is that why you _drank_?"

Michael wants to retort that he makes him sound like an alcoholic, which he is far from. "Acetone."

"What?"

"Acetone," he repeats, risking a glance at him and torn again for how upset Alex looks. "It's what we drink. It's like… it helps. It numbs the pain, helps us calm. It's like medicine, I guess."

"Acetone? Like, nail polish remover?"

"Yeah, Alex," Michael says forcing himself to laugh. "_Alien_, remember. Gonna be far weirder things about me than that."

"Nothing about you is _weird_," Alex retorts, "just _different_."

Is that how he sees him, Michael thinks, not sure what to make of Alex's words. "Well. Either way. It's done now. My hand's fixed, you know we're _different_. Nothing else changed."

"Everything has _changed_, Guerin," Alex says as he closes his eyes, letting his head fall back. He is silent on the way back to their room, no matter what Michael tries to get him to talk about.

* * *

The moment they are through the door Alex is mumbling about taking a shower. He takes his toiletries and a change of clothes out of his bag escaping to the bathroom without another word. Michael watches the closed door listening to him moving around inside then tells himself to stop creeping, and starts to unfold his bed.

Once it's flattened out, Michael looks around the room trying to work out if there is a better place to put it. It might just squeeze in beside Alex's bed but Michael doubts that's the best option. It could fit along the length of wall at the foot of the bed, though Alex might then struggle to get by in the night if he needs something from their kitchenette. In the end Michael opts for moving the bed as close to the kitchenette door as possible though still leaving a gap, intending to sleep with his head facing the other way because there is a draft coming in from under the door.

The bedding he tucks neatly into the bedframe corners, thankful that the mattress is thick and springy. He's slept in far worse places, and to be honest the only thing Michael thinks he needs this evening is to know that Alex is asleep, safe and sound nearby. When done Michael puts his bag against the wall to the end of the bed where his pillow is so that the floor is free of trip hazards. Alex might not like him fussing, but Michael remembers all too well the few occasions he has been in his Airstream and floor space was less than clear, when Alex had taken a tumble. Straight into Michael's waiting arms back then which softened the blow, but _this_ is not _then_. Michael knows his touch is unwelcome.

Alex returns from the bathroom in boxers and a t-shirt, the rest of his clothes tucked under his arm as he moves. Michael itches to help when he struggles to maneuver between the door and side of the bed with his prosthetic also in his grip instead of on his leg, breathing out in relief when Alex eventually sits.

"How's your leg?" Michael asks because he can't stop himself. He watches Alex swing his legs up along the length of the bed casting furtive glances at his stump to check for any redness or swelling.

"It's fine. Aches a little."

"That's normal, right?"

"Yeah."

"Do you need anything?" Michael asks, watching Alex open his laptop bag and slide out a laptop that almost screams at him with newness and technology. Michael points to the sign on the wall when Alex looks around for the wifi code.

"No. I'm good."

"Okay. Then I'm taking a shower," Michael says leaping up and rummaging through his bag. He doesn't look back when he closes the bathroom door behind him, though still thinks of Alex sprawled out on the bed.

Alex's focus is solely on his laptop screen when Michael comes back out. Michael keeps himself busy, tidying away his things then putting his phone on to charge at the nearest socket to his bed. He has nothing to do, so lies on the bed with his hands tucked behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling.

"You should have brought a guitar."

Michael closes his eyes; he knows about him playing in the Wild Pony, then, even if he didn't put together him playing a guitar again with the healing of his hand. Is nothing private in Roswell at all? "I didn't think. Probably for the best, really. Space-wise, anyway."

"You messaged home?"

"When you were in the shower."

"Everyone okay?"

"Seems so, yeah. What about you?" Michael adds, instantly regretting it, sure he can feel the hostility in the air.

"No one to message."

Not even _Kyle_, Michael wants to ask, but doesn't. He's sure _he'll_ hear from Kyle in a day or so anyway. Though maybe he could let him know Alex is okay? Michael hauls himself to sit upright, watching Alex as he types.

"I know maybe it doesn't feel like it right now, but you've got people back in Roswell that care about you."

"Oh?" Alex asks, his expression becoming livid as he looks up from the screen to look at him. "Like who?"

Michael isn't ready for the return of his anger. He takes a moment to compose an answer, swallowing when Alex doesn't look away. "Alex. You have friends—"

"Where? Who are my friends? How are they my friends? I don't know anyone in Roswell anymore."

"C'mon, Alex."

"No. Seriously," Alex says, closing his laptop lid and dropping it to the bed beside him. "Who?"

"Well, Kyle, obviously. And Liz; I know she said she tried to call you a bunch of times."

"I haven't even seen Liz in a while."

"Yeah, well. She's had stuff going on. With work. And Max. And all this stuff with Noah, and everything."

"There surely aren't all that many people in Roswell who know about _aliens_," Alex says.

"Well, no. Hopefully not, anyway."

"But she knows that _I_ know?"

"I guess she must do?"

"So why has she never once mentioned any of this to me? Never once—I don't know," Alex says, dropping his hands against the bed with a soft thud. "This is all a lot to deal with. There's so _much_. If she knew _I_ knew, why wouldn't she—wouldn't she want to talk about it all with someone else who knew about it?"

Michael has no answer for him. "Well. Maybe call her, and then—"

"Does _Maria_ know about you?"

The tone of Alex's voice has changed, a sharpness to it that puts Michael on edge.

"No. She doesn't."

"Why?"

"Because, Alex. This isn't something that—I wouldn't share this with just _anyone_. We argued—Max, Isobel, and me—when Max told Liz about all this. When he _saved_ her. It's been our secret for so long. We can't let just _anyone_ in. It's dangerous for us."

"I guess Liz must get it," Alex says, frowning. "Keeping secrets? What with Arturo, and immigration."

"I guess so," Michael agrees. He hasn't ever really thought about it before.

"Would you have told me? If I hadn't figured it out for myself?"

Again Michael finds himself wanting to carefully choose his words. "I wanted to."

"But you didn't trust me, like Max trusts Liz?" Alex asks, confirming to Michael that he's damned however he answers.

"I was mad with Max for telling Liz, like, five seconds after she got back, because I wanted to tell _you_ for years. But I didn't, to keep us safe."

"You think I would ever do anything to jeopardize your safety?" Alex retorts.

There were so many times Michael had wanted to tell Alex who he was, to share everything that he is with him. But even Isobel hadn't shared who she was with Noah—not knowingly, anyway. How did Max get to decide _sharing_ was okay? Michael shakes his head for the anger he still feels about Max making that particular decision without him.

"No. I don't. But I can't just—it wasn't just my secret to keep. And this isn't just—we're _aliens_, Alex. It's kind of a big deal. We risk everything we are by letting people in."

"So where does _Maria_ fit into that?" Alex asks, narrowing his eyes.

"She doesn't. I didn't go to her to make her a part of anything. I went to her to _escape_."

"Right."

"She never meant to hurt you, Alex," Michael adds, "neither of us did. She's still your _friend_, no matter what."

"_Friend_?" Alex repeats with a scoff of laughter.

"_Yeah_." Michael doesn't want Alex to lose anyone in his life, especially not for him. And this isn't something Maria should take all of the blame for either. Decisions were made without thinking, or rather him not thinking the right things. About the right people. But how could he, when everything in his world was such a mess? 

"You know, Guerin? It's not about _you_, and _her_, and acting on _feelings_. I get that. I understand _that_."

Immediately Michael freezes. Is Alex about to force the conversation _he's_ been rehearsing since leaving Roswell, that Michael is now in no way ready for? Or is Alex referring to his own acting on feelings that Michael doesn't know about? Doesn't _want_ to know about for the jealousy that will inevitably keep him awake at night?

"She told me it was a one off," Alex adds, "that it didn't mean anything, you and her. But that wasn't the case at all, was it?"

"Alex—"

"You think I don't love _you_ enough to want to see you happy, even if it isn't with _me_?"

Michael's heart begins to race. This is the last thing he expects Alex to tell him. And how is he supposed to just sit hear with Alex's eyes filling with tears?

"And I don't need anyone asking me for my _permission_," Alex tells him, his voice dropping to that quiet fury that Michael has always hated hearing the most. Because it's reserved for all the times _he's_ hurt him.

"Okay?"

"But I can't help wondering, that if it had been Liz, instead of me, if… if Liz had been secretly with you all this time. Would she—would Maria have gone to her first?" Alex asks, his voice beginning to tremble. "I can't help feeling like she would have talked about it with her. Not avoided her, or lied to her face. She would have been upfront, told her what was happening. She'd have _wanted_ to talk about it with me—she'd have valued our friendship enough to want to. And I'd still be hurt, but I'd have understood it. You can't help who you fall for, right?"

"Alex—"

"But she _knew_ how I felt about you," Alex says, his voice cracking. "She knew, _years_ ago. Even if she didn't know I was talking about _you_ at the time. She _knew_ what you meant to me, that this wasn't some… she _knew_," Alex says, agony in his voice as he drops his head back against the headboard.

Michael is convinced he can feel the waves of confusion and betrayal coming off Alex in waves. Nothing he can say is going to help. There isn't even any comfort for him in the confirmation that Alex has loved him so long.

"I guess it doesn't matter that it's _me_ hurting here, right?" Alex adds, shaking his head and laughing bitterly. "I'm the one who was away for ten years. I can't expect people to consider what I'm feeling. It shouldn't even bother me that they don't."

"I was the one who told her you and me were done," Michael blurts out, which of course Alex seems to take as him taking sides. Michael can tell purely from his expression that his words have done more damage than if he'd not spoken at all.

"See?" Alex says, his voice becoming softer and defeated. "This _is_ all my fault. It is. If I hadn't insisted on _us_ being a secret for all this time. If I'd stayed in better contact with everyone. If… I'm mad at everyone. But especially me. Because you're right; Maria would never have—this would never have happened if… if she'd _known_. If she'd _really_ known. Before now."

Alex turns then, repacking his laptop bag and putting it on the floor beside his bed. Michael watches, helpless, not knowing what to say or do as Alex swings his legs around and bends to reattach his prosthetic. He makes his way through to the kitchenette without so much as a glance in Michael's direction when he passes.

"You want something to drink?" Alex calls, his voice dull, and still defeated. Michael wants to go to him, but knows that he probably shouldn't.

"No. I'm good."

Alex comes back through taking gulps from a bottle of water, dropping back down on the bed. He continues to drink as he removes his prosthetic one-handed, swinging his legs back up.

"We should've _talked_, Alex," Michael says, because he doesn't know what else to say.

"Yeah."

"And I should never have gone to her like that," Michael adds, deciding it's time for all of his rehearsed words to come out. "I shouldn't; not for you, or her, _or_ me. It wasn't fair. I was wanting something _easy_, and _peaceful_, to forget everything else. After Caulfield, and my _mom_, and everything that happened to Isobel, and Max. And to me. I just wanted something for me, that wasn't mixed up in any of that."

Alex doesn't say anything. Is he even getting through to him?

"Alex; it's always been you. _Always_. I tried not to feel like this; you know I did. But I have always loved you. I always _will_. I just… sometimes, with the way we are, loving you hurts too much."

"Then you should be with—"

"What I _should_ be doing, is working things out with _you_," Michael says, "that's why I'm _here_. Alex, it's why I followed you. I couldn't let you walk away thinking that I didn't… that I _don't_ love you. Because I do. I just—"

"There's too much hurt between us. Too much," Alex whispers, doing nothing to stop the fall of his tears. "And I just… I _need_ to be away from there. I have too much I need to do. And there is too much I'm holding on to, everywhere I look. Too much I need to fix. _I_ need some peace, Michael. Just for a while."

Michael knows that Alex wants to be alone. But he doesn't want to go back. He can't even imagine returning to Roswell knowing Alex wasn't beside him, or about to follow him home. He _can't_ be without him. "Please don't make me go."

"I'm not _making_ you do anything," Alex replies, his lip trembling as he looks back at him. "I _made_ you keep us a secret for all these years, and where did that get us? What good did it do?"

"I'd take every minute of it again if I couldn't have you any other way," Michael tells him, and he would. There is little he can imagine not sacrificing for Alex.

Alex closes his eyes, though there is still pain etched clearly on his face. "I shouldn't have done that to you, Michael. I shouldn't have done it to _me_."

"We—"

"And I have to _fix_ things," Alex repeats frantically with a wild look in his eyes. "I need to make sure. I need to… I need to _go_."

Alex looks so _lost_. Michael can't stop himself from standing, crossing the room, and pulling a chair out from the table to sit beside him near the bed. It's not what he wants; all Michael wants to do now is crawl into bed and wrap Alex in his arms. But he knows he can't.

"Well. If we talk, then we can—"

"I can't go back there _knowing—"_

"Alex," Michael says gently grabbing his arm, alarmed for the panic on his face. "It's okay."

"Nothing is _okay_, Guerin. Nothing. Not this, not us, not… _nothing_. I have to _fix_ it. I _have_ to."

Alex looks near-hysterical, which makes Michael feel like his heart is in his throat. He knows he won't get through to him like this, that there are things playing on Alex's mind he isn't ready to share with him. Michael loathes how much he must have contributed to how lost Alex seems.

"Alex," he says, tapping his fingers against his arm before sliding them away. "I don't want to go back without you. I don't want to _be_ without you."

"I don't want to be without you either," Alex agrees, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. "But we can't just… I need some _peace_. You get that, right?"

"I do. I do get it."

"You shouldn't have followed me, Michael," Alex adds as he tears up again, "it was going to be so much easier doing this without you. How am I supposed to make you leave, when you're here now? How am I supposed to have the strength to tell you do go?"

"Then let's just… two weeks, okay?" Michael says, relieved for the reprieve but still scared for the look in Alex's eyes. "Give me two weeks. I won't push, and I won't ask. I want us to learn to be friends too, Alex. I want everything with you, but we should… please let's just start with that? Please."

"We should sleep," Alex tells him after a long pause, his eyes falling to where Michael's hand is still resting on the side of the bed. "We should just sleep. It's been a long day."

Michael doesn't know if he _can_ sleep. But he is determined to give Alex what he wants. "Okay. Okay, we'll sleep."

Alex nods, dropping his head to avoid Michael's eyes as he caps his bottle of water, lowering it to the nightstand. Michael pushes the chair back under the table, reaching out instinctively when Alex stands to pull back his comforter and wobbles. Alex sags for his touch, and Michael can feel how much he wants to lean into it. He holds on only as long as Alex needs him for before stepping back, quietly returning to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When Michael comes back into the room it is lit only by the lamp by Alex's side. He pulls back his comforter and gets settled on his fold-out bed, thankful again that it is comfortable. The moment he stops moving Alex turns the light out. Michael listens to him sniffle and shift, and fights the urge to get up to comfort him. He can't. Whatever is going through Alex's mind, his comfort is not what he needs.

Michael curls on his side, staring out in the darkness of the room listening as Alex's breathing evens out. He doesn't even try to sleep himself though eventually does while replaying Alex's words, wishing he knew what to say or do to help.

* * *

When they wake in the morning, all Alex's anguish from the night before is replaced with thoughtful silence. Michael doesn't know what is worse, only that it adds to and repeats alongside with all the other things still running around his head. They eat breakfast in near-silence, the coffee he'd bought for the apartment in Albuquerque a welcome addition when they inspect what the coffee available in the room is like. The bagels he bought for toasting at least Alex seems to be enjoying, for the quick way he works through his.

"So? Did you decide what you want to do about a car yet?" Michael asks when they've cleaned up and repacked their bags, and he's refolded his bed to press it back against the wall.

Alex looks around the room shaking his head. "I should really do some work before I do anything else."

Michael knows he can't sit here in silence to give Alex room to work, not in this mood, not with these many thoughts playing on his mind.

"Check out isn't until eleven," Michael says as he gives the room a glance over to make sure he has all of his things. This situation is far from ideal. He knows Alex needs space, and he also knows there is no way he can leave him. They'll just have to manage it as best they can. Unless Alex tells him otherwise.

"Where are you going?" Alex asks as Michael opens the room door. As he turns back Michael adjusts his bag on his shoulder, intending to dump it in the truck.

"Out. Around. You work, Alex," he adds, nodding towards the table. "I'll come back around eleven. Maybe we can get an early lunch, figure out what's next."

Michael leaves before Alex can say another word, throwing his bag in the truck and walking away, hoping to clear his head a little as he does.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is your [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScuwVD9ywC8f3gFh0spUH_8KDlt0opI_luM4EgZwbYFF5j_YA/viewform)!


	7. Chapter 7

When Michael returns to the truck after walking in circles trying to get his thoughts in order, he finds Alex has pulled down the back of it and perched, waiting for him. His bag is already secure next to Michael's, and from the looks of the maid going in to their room with a cleaning cart, he's already checked out.

"Everything okay?" Michael asks, because after last night seeing Alex so upset, he doesn't think he can stop himself from asking.

"Fine," Alex says, standing. "We'll take your truck. But we're taking it in turns to drive."

It is far better than Michael has been hoping for. He'd been mostly convinced that despite all Alex's words, he was going to send him away anyway. So he smiles because he can't help it, secures the back of the truck, then gestures towards the driver's seat.

"Be my guest."

Alex already has his keys so makes his way around and climbs in, already adjusting the seat and mirrors as Michael slides in beside him. When he looks, Michael finds Alex's laptop bag is in the footwell, and there are two bottles of water wedged between their seats. A bag of Haribo Sour Streamers is stuck in beside them; Michael pulls the bag into his lap and flattens it out against his thigh.

"Gum's in the door," Alex says with an absent nod as he fires up the engine. "Since you always complain about the _aftertaste_ after gorging yourself on an entire bag."

He _does_ do that, and that Alex is being so blatant in remembering all these things about him gives Michael fresh reasons to _hope_. He pops the bag open making obnoxiously loud noises as he chews the first streamer, catching Alex's flicker of a smile before he reins it in.

"You want?" he says, holding the bag out.

"I'm good."

"So. Still taking the I40?" Michael asks as Alex turns the truck out on to the street.

"Checked the map. Think the I17 for now."

Michael nods, trying to picture the map in his head. He doesn't really have a clue, but thinks that route might take them to Phoenix. He wants to ask outright where they are going, but thinks Alex should tell him unprompted if he wants to, no matter how curious he is.

"Well. Okay then."

"I thought maybe we could drive for a couple of hours, stop for lunch around, say, one? I'm still full from breakfast. But if you're hungry—"

"No. Sounds great," Michael replies. He doesn't even really have an appetite for these Streamers but is eating them anyway, because _Alex_ bought them for him.

"We shouldn't be too long on the road today," Alex adds, drumming his thumb against the steering wheel.

"Okay. Whatever you need, Alex."

"Also. I booked us a room. With _two_ beds. You're not sleeping on a fold out again."

Michael nods when Alex turns and raises an eyebrow at him in challenge. He doesn't know what to make of the fact that Alex hasn't just booked them separate rooms, but tries not to dwell on it. "Works for me."

"I have a couple of things I need to do when I get there. I thought, maybe, I could drop you at the motel, and I'd meet you back there, after."

Michael wants to object, to say he's going with him wherever he's going. But then decides this must be a work-related thing that he shouldn't be privy to. "Did you get much work done this morning?"

"I did. I got done pretty much everything I needed to for today. Thank you," Alex says with his first full smile for Michael since they woke up. It unclasps some of the tension from Michael's heart.

"Well, good."

Alex turns the radio on then tuning it to whatever local station he finds first. Its volume is low so they can keep on talking, but Michael thinks Alex just wants to concentrate on the road. So he cranks down the window resting his arm on the frame, watching unfamiliar trees rush by as they pass them. The roads are near empty, enough for Michael to imagine it is just them out here on the Interstate. He doesn't feel tense like he'd feared he might for the two of them driving together without talking. He feels like he usually does when he's alone with Alex and he's letting himself just _be_. Homely, and peaceful. He'll savor that over angry words any time.

Though he wasn't expecting to feel quite so relaxed. The steady lull of the road beneath their tires and Alex's careful driving means Michael finds himself dropping his head back and closing his eyes, just for a little while. He is disoriented when Alex shakes him awake and the truck has stopped moving. Though it's the soft, wistful look on Alex's face that is really the thing to confuse him most.

"Something happen?" Michael asks, sitting more upright and rubbing his eyes to wake up properly.

"No. Just thought we should stop to eat," Alex says, pointing at the diner he's pulled up in the parking lot of. "Hungry?"

"Uh. Sure?"

Alex tilts his head for them to get out of the truck with Michael needing a couple more seconds to orientate himself before joining him. Alex ducks back in to take his laptop bag out, swinging it over his shoulder and adjusting the strap.

"But we're stopping already?" Michael asks, still not quite alert enough.

"Well. We have been driving for almost two hours now."

"Seriously?" Michael turns to look at their surroundings more thoroughly then checks the time on his phone. How has he been asleep this long? "Where are we?"

"Glendale, I think?" Alex says, checking the map on his phone. Why has it taken Michael so long to notice him using it as a GPS?

"You should've said. I could've… we'll put it on the dash so you can see it better," he says, his stomach unimpressed with the thought of Alex needing to keep looking away from the road.

"It's fine."

"No, look," Michael says, pointing to the large Walmart sign they can see about a block over, "we can pick something up there. Take two minutes."

"I guess we can pick up some stuff for tonight while we're there. Maybe we can eat in? Last night, that restaurant, it was great. But I think if we eat like that every night—"

"Either we're gonna get a taste for the finer side of life that just isn't _us_, or we're gonna need a gym membership or something to work some of it off."

"I miss the gym," Alex says as they walk towards the diner, his face setting into a small, grim smile. This is news to Michael. He knows Alex has always kept active, and that military life has kept him lithe and strong. But the thought of him on a treadmill or at a weights station Michael can't get his head around.

"From training?"

"It was good discipline. Structure, order. Somewhere where I could forget about anything else, and just count repetitions, or miles, or whatever. Sets of lifts; I don't know."

"I guess if it's been a part of your day for these past ten years, it must be weird without it," Michael says, opening the diner door for him.

"I never even thought about needing to find a routine for exercise when I left. It was just… part of what I did. Who I was."

Michael's reply is cut off when they are ushered to a table, picking up the menu to inspect before they're even really sat. "Well. We could maybe find something healthier for lunch."

"No," Alex says, laughing, "I didn't say that. Something with vegetables tonight. But right now? I need _bacon_. And potato skins," he adds, biting his lip as he studies the menu. "Can't remember the last time I had those."

They order bacon omelets and a side of skins to share, both commenting under their breath that _their_ coffee currently in the back of the truck is far better than the diner's but still drinking two mugs each regardless as they eat. They talk of plans for dinner, with Alex apparently not having enough of potatoes today, since when Michael suggests baked sweet potato he practically salivates for it. Michael hopes the facilities in the place they're staying in will have all they need to cook with.

Alex begins telling him about a mission he'd been on in Iraq with some code-breaking that he's reminded of by his current work assignment—which he _can't_ talk about. In turn, Michael asks about all the computers he saw in the Project Shepherd bunker, and is delighted to hear about how first, Alex knocked _Jesse Manes_ out with his crutch to get him in there, and second, how much Alex enjoyed hacking into the system while making his father watch.

Michael pays for their lunch while Alex uses the bathroom, earning himself an exasperated sigh that Alex holds back the full extent of before saying thank you. They drive over to the Walmart, with Michael first finding some kind of dashboard phone holder for Alex. They pick up sweet potato, some broccoli and carrots, and some turkey steaks Michael finds some seasoning for that he intends to do something with. He's not sure what yet.

"That's almost _too_ healthy," Alex says as he looks at their purchases, throwing in a bag of shredded cheese as well.

They make for the truck, with Alex grabbing his arm saying that he's forgotten something. Michael automatically goes for the driver's side but then waits beside it in case Alex still wants to drive. Alex waves for him to take the driver's seat as he approaches with a couple of magazines rolled up in his hand.

"What's that?" Michael asks when he gets in, taking the car keys Alex drops into his hand.

"For you," Alex says, pushing the magazines into his lap. "I know you like these. And I'll be gone for a couple of hours at least when we get there. Maybe; I'm not sure."

The magazines unroll in Michael's lap. He reads the titles American Scientist, New Scientist, and Popular Science, running his thumb over the glossy paper before looking to Alex for an explanation.

"I just thought… I don't know. I don't know what you even want to do when I'm… working. Or anything, really. I just thought you'd like to read them."

"I do. I mean, I will. Thanks, Alex," Michael says, yet again touched that Alex remembers his favorite things. He used to read copies of these magazines in the library before he could afford to buy his own, which he now donates to a children's home in Roswell when he's done reading them. Though he too doesn't know what he's expecting he'll be doing while waiting around for Alex on this _road trip_. He could take these two weeks he's given himself a target of at least getting to with Alex and do nothing much of anything. Or he can find some other way to occupy his time. Though he doesn't know with what.

"You're welcome," Alex says as he gets comfortable, setting up the phone holder and turning it so Michael can see it. "We're taking the I10. It's a couple of hours to the motel from here, but we can stop before if you want. Are we okay for gas?"

"Let's fill up before we get going," Michael says, spotting a gas station and quickly pulling in. He is now even more curious about what Alex is doing that involves dropping _him_ off first, but says nothing, quickly filling the truck up and climbing back in.

They drive for a little while in comfortable silence aside from pointing out things of interest to one another along the road. Alex looks both relaxed and tense, which Michael thinks should be impossible. Though he knows Alex's expressions well enough. This one says he wants to be enjoying the moment he is in, but can't stop thinking about what is to come. Which makes Michael a little nervous.

"So. We've never really talked about this all that much. I know you _like_ doing it. But why'd you pick code-breaking as a career?" Michael asks when the silence stretches out between them and he has to have some noise.

"When I first enlisted, I don't know. I just seemed to be good at it. I enjoyed it enough to want to know more. Studied, realized I really did like it. It's perfect, really, for me."

"How?"

"It's something I can _fix_," Alex says, his expression darkening for a second. "I like having things I can fix. It's a problem, a puzzle, that I can find a solution to, that will _help_ people. That—every step of the process makes sense. There aren't any deviations, or multiple choices and outcomes, there's just yes, and no, go, or stop. It's easy. It's… I like the clarity of it."

"And you were always good at puzzles," Michael adds thinking of the times back in high school when the two of them would solve problems in math class faster than anyone else in the room. Or when Alex came back to visit him and he'd return from a shower, or picking up food, and Alex would be working his way through sudoku, or logic puzzles, or anything he could get his hands on.

"I guess it's different now. The puzzles, I mean. I have more time to fix them, more resources to help me fix them. No one's life is on the line," Alex adds, leaving Michael to wonder what he must be picturing for the painful way he swallows. What memories does he have that he'll never be able to share with him, share with anyone? Not for the first time, Michael wishes Alex had led a very different life.

They talk a little more about coding, and Alex compares some of the tasks he does with what Michael does by hand. He gets it, really, understands what Alex means about liking having simple problems to fix. Michael can strip a broken engine apart and put it back together knowing it will work, satisfied that he knows every part and can get the job done.

Apparently time is intent on passing quickly today. It's almost five when they pull up at their motel, and Michael is convinced Alex might decide to _not_ go wherever it is he's intending for it being the end of the working day. Alex has other ideas, checking them in and handing Michael the key.

"Do you mind taking our stuff in?" he asks, gesturing at the bags they're holding between them.

"Not at all," Michael replies taking Alex's bag to swing over his shoulder plus the groceries he's holding on to. Alex keeps his laptop bag though, which doesn't really surprise him.

"I guess… two hours, max."

"I'll have dinner waiting."

"You don't have to do that," Alex says looking torn between touched, and guilty.

"It's fine. Gives me something to do, remember?" Michael adds, brandishing his magazines at him.

Alex sucks in a breath as though debating with himself then breathes out slow, nodding in agreement. "Okay. Thanks, Michael. I won't be long. Or late."

Michael nods for him to go, checking the room number on the key fob, then making his way through the motel to their room. The room is good; gold and white bedding and a navy blue carpet, with dark wooden furniture and cream colored walls. The bathroom is tiny; Michael isn't even sure how a full person is supposed to fit in the bath, but the shower works, and everything is clean; he can ask no more than that.

The shared kitchen is also clean with lots of surfaces, though Michael wonders about cooking early since by the time Alex gets back who knows how busy it will be. Though he realizes quickly that all the _equipment_ he's seeing is for microwave use only. He can steam their vegetables in there, probably, but what is he supposed to do with the turkey and potatoes?

"There's a grill out back," Michael is told by another guest, who is wandering around in nothing but a towel and flipflops looking half asleep. He looks like he's stayed at the motel for a while.

Michael takes a quick shower, picking the bed furthest from the bathroom thinking that Alex might prefer to be closer to it in the night, and leaving _him_ closer to the door. He skims through the magazines turning the corners for the articles he wants to read more in depth later. He takes them through with him when he goes back to cook later, reading in between preparing. Though he only gets through one article, for chatting with some of the other guests.

Alex arrives just after seven with a serious look on his face that makes Michael's stomach clench. Though when he sees him Alex seems to relax. Michael doesn't know what to make of that but waves him over to the table he's set up for them, taking him over a beer.

"Be about ten minutes," he says. "Did you get done what you wanted to?"

"For now," Alex says as he sits down in relief. "I think I'll need to do a little more in the morning. I'm not sure yet."

"That mean you have some stuff you need to do tonight?"

"A little," Alex says as he picks up his beer and takes a grateful sip.

"Well. Not like I don't have plenty of stuff to read," Michael says, tapping on the back of the chair and looking towards the kitchen. He's never used a microwave steamer before and half-expects the thing to explode on him.

"It might be like this a lot," Alex says, calling Michael's attention again.

"What?"

"If you're coming with me, I might need to work. A lot. I don't know how much time I have for… I don't know how much free time I'll have."

Michael already knows this, has already told himself the worst case scenarios to expect. He wants _some_ time with Alex, and if he's honest wants more time than just _some_. But he'll take what Alex is giving him, and will do nothing that makes him feel guilty about it if that time isn't very much. That Alex seems to be acknowledging that he is staying puts more hope in Michael's heart that he tries not to pin anything on.

"It's fine. I knew that already. I can come out here and read if you want, leave you to it. I'm eyeing that couch in particular," Michael adds nodding across the room to a deep red three-seater he's already sprawled out on once.

Dinner is delicious even if Michael does say so himself; even if it had taken a little creativity to get everything cooking as it should. Alex is starving, apparently, sprinkling extra cheese over his turkey and potatoes, then eyeing the rest of the potatoes on the plate they're sharing from.

"You finish them," Michael says, pushing the plate towards him, "I'm good."

"You sure?"

Michael spears the potatoes on to Alex's plate for him and waves the fork telling him to eat.

Alex's offer to wash their dishes after dinner Michael waves off despite his protests. "Wait 'till we're in a room with our own kitchen; queue for the sink here looks long. You go work," he says as he stands and slides the room key across the table, already tidying up their plates.

Alex hovers uncertainly beside him, though goes when Michael more enthusiastically waves him away. Michael watches him leave and aches to follow, but knows that's not what Alex needs. After washing their things he takes another beer from the fridge and is pleased to find his deep red couch still free, dropping himself down on to it.

Michael is engrossed in an article about alternative energy sources when he hears a cleared throat, and looks up to see Alex beside the couch. "Hi," he says, frozen for not being able to interpret Alex's look.

"Mind if I join you?" Alex asks, nodding at Michael's legs. Michael quickly sits up and swivels round making room for him.

"You finished working already?" Michael asks, checking the time. Alex has been in their room for not even an hour. And he's showered judging from the way his hair is wet and standing all over the place. Michael resists the urge to get his hands through it by wondering what little amount of work he must have got done.

"The stuff I needed to do. The stuff that I can't let anyone else see."

"Right," Michael says watching Alex open his laptop. "Got much more to do?"

"Not too much. Maybe half an hour. It's nothing that difficult, really. So I don't… you don't need to not talk to me, or anything."

"Okay." Michael is more than happy with that arrangement even if he doesn't really know what to say right now. "Couch in the room's not great."

"I've sat on softer floors," Alex says out of the corner of his mouth making Michael laugh in the process.

"Whereas this thing you can sink right into," Michael says, pretending to sprawl out. Alex holds rigid, grinning when Michael tries to push him away for more room.

"_Working_ here."

"Sorry."

Alex rolls his eyes but is still smiling, even as he turns back to his screen. Part of Michael wants to blurt out that _this_ is what he misses most about them, the ease and silliness together they've so often shared. That he hates how he can't tell when an easy conversation between them like this one might spill into a more serious one that reveals how much he's hurt Alex with his choices. Or how Alex has hurt _him_; just being in these motels the past couple of nights brings back memories of Alex leaving him, of their fighting, of how terrified Michael has been every single time Alex has gone back to his _war_.

Michael goes back to the article he was reading determined to leave Alex to work, and for himself not to dwell. He loses himself easily enough; just having Alex beside him is soothing even if he tells himself it shouldn't be. Even if his thoughts keep trying to trick him into _thinking_ things about Alex that aren't going to help either of them. Still, the words on the page draw him again in meaning that it takes Alex saying his name twice before he really hears him.

"It's getting pretty late," Alex says when he has his attention. Michael checks the clock on the wall and huffs in surprise. Time really is running away from them today.

"It is. You need to sleep?"

"Soon I think," Alex agrees, closing his laptop. "You?"

"I could sleep."

"You don't have to because of me."

"I know. But when you leave, I leave. No point in me staying awake half the night for no reason at all if you want to set off early tomorrow."

Alex nods, distracted as he closes his laptop lid and lets it slip to his side. Michael knows without having to ask there are _things_ he wants to talk about.

"You okay?" Michael asks, thinking then that _yes_ it's getting late. Is it really wise for them to be having another _discussion_ like they did the night before? Surely they need at least a little recovery time between these things?

"Yes. Sorry," Alex says, shaking his head as though confirming his thoughts had been elsewhere. "You want to head back? To the room, I mean?"

"Sure."

Michael stands as Alex does, calling back a _goodnight_ to the guy still wandering around in only a towel and flip flops looking only slightly more alert than earlier. Does he ever get dressed?

"He's the overnight security guard," Alex tells him when they're out of earshot. How does Alex know that already when he's been in the motel less time than him?

"I'm not overly convinced he'd be much use securing anything."

"I think his main occupation is keeping the lobby clear of trouble—and for that, I mean keeping the vending machine working—and talking to the receptionist about his latest theories on telekinesis."

"Oh, really?" Michael says, laughing. "And how do you know all this?"

"Because," Alex says as he lets them into their room, "when I passed by the reception after dinner, I caught what he was saying. And the receptionist mouthed, _save me_ at me."

"I'm sure his theories on telekinesis are _fascinating_."

"Michael. They involve something to do with the distillation of corn syrup and… what sounded like wearing lucky socks."

Michael puts his magazines down on his nightstand and laughs. "Well, okay then."

"So. This room. It's okay, right?" Alex says as he puts everything he has on to charge. Michael eyes the laptop, tablet, and phone, and their cables trailing across the room's desk, wondering what other gadgets are lurking in that laptop bag of Alex's.

"It's great. Thanks."

"And you're… okay with this?" Alex asks when Michael turns around. He'd been about to go use the bathroom and get ready for bed, but the look on Alex's face tells him otherwise.

"What?"

"This room… this accommodation thing. I figured, since last night we shared a room, you wouldn't mind tonight doing the same. But if you didn't—"

"It's fine with me," Michael says quickly, waving away his concerns; _he_ has no problem at all with being alone with Alex. He'd happily share a bed with him, but that would either be too awkward to let them sleep, or too much of a temptation for them to slip back into their typical ways. They need to _fix_ this thing between them, properly this time, whatever the outcome. But he also needs to make this easy for Alex if he can. "Not like we've not shared a room before."

"In very different circumstances," Alex points out, though there is no anger, no malice behind his words.

"Exactly. If we can… if we could share back then like _that_, then we can share now, right? Hey, we've not even yelled at each other yet," Michael says then before he can stop himself. "I'd say that was progress given our surroundings."

Alex winces but nods, his eyes full of apology when he looks back at him, which isn't what Michael was going for at all. Though he can't take those words back, not when he meant them. He's sure there are motel guests who've had to share neighbouring rooms to theirs in the past, and went away hoping for a peaceful night elsewhere away from the sound of them arguing.

"I know," Alex agrees, toying with the comforter on his bed as he stands awkwardly beside it. "I only meant—I have a suggestion, about how we deal with where we stay at night from now on. I don't know if it's a good one, or if it would work. If you hear me out, maybe you can tell me if it's a stupid idea, or not."

Michael nods, slumping down on the side of his bed, watching Alex move to do the same. "I'm all ears. What is it?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your next [survey](https://forms.gle/oqHBqU21KaK7S4Qd9)!


	8. Chapter 8

"So, I was thinking, when we were driving earlier, that maybe… if we're doing this day in, day out, staying in a new motel every night, constantly changing; maybe that will get to be too much," Alex says, hesitating as he speaks as though he wants to make each word come out perfectly.

Michael can picture how much he's rehearsed.

"So, this wasn't something you really thought about when you decided to leave Roswell?" Michael asks. He's convinced there wasn't much of a thought process at all for Alex aside from _leaving_. Even with this new job of his.

"Not really? I… pictured myself working, and having to stay somewhere, but didn't really think about _where_. I don't know. I figured I'd work it out as I went."

"So now…?"

"Now," Alex says, sighing as though he's annoyed with himself, "now I feel like the thought of changing rooms every night might not be what I want. But obviously, I need to keep moving."

_Why_ does he need to keep moving, Michael wants to ask. Can't he just stop somewhere, stay for a while, even if it isn't in Roswell? He'll happily follow Alex anywhere he goes, but this listlessness doesn't _feel_ like Alex at all.

"So? What are you thinking?"

Alex exhales slowly, in that way he does when he's trying to calm himself. Which naturally makes Michael worry. "How would you feel about us getting an old Airstream to drive around in?"

"...seriously?"

"It could be perfect," Alex says, again with that look that says he's been rehearsing. "We can stop when we want, and where we want—_I_ need to. My data is covered by Corazon, and my phone, so I can keep working wherever we are, and obviously, if we do get one, I'd want a good Wifi antenna for it as a back up. If we want to spend a night in a motel or somewhere to get a break, there is nothing to stop us doing that as well. Just… it would be good, I think, to not have to pack, and unpack, and repack every single day. For me, anyway."

Michael can already picture it, even if it's his own Airstream that he's imagining them in together. "Well. Not like I don't have some experience with these things."

He isn't sending him away. Alex is planning the next part of this road trip _with_ him, with him in mind. Michael has to rein in the relief that surely must be written all over his face when it hits him, but can't hold back his smile.

"Exactly," Alex says, looking equally relieved, even if it's for much different reasons. "And financially, I guess it works out similar in the long run. To a new motel every night, anyway."

"And we can split the cost—"

"Actually," Alex says, wincing again, "I thought maybe… I have the money, for an older model? And I thought maybe… if you _wanted_ to, that is, maybe you could pay for anything… if it needed renovating. Obviously it needs to be at least roadworthy to start with, so we can keep going. And if we're using it instead of accommodation, it really needs beds. Whatever condition they're in."

"That'll work," Michael says, his image shifting, now picturing filling his time fixing up an Airstream, parked up by the side of wherever they end up as Alex works.

"I don't want you to think you _have_ to do this," Alex adds. "I don't like the idea that I've made this decision without even consulting you on it. This is your time too. And your money. So I don't want you to think—"

"We're talking about it now, though, right?" Michael says, waving his hand to dismiss Alex's concerns. "It's not like you went out and bought something without asking me first, then told me what I was doing with it."

Alex nods, giving him a tight smile. "Okay. Good. I didn't want this… I didn't want you to think I was taking advantage of this… situation, just to get my own way."

Michael can't help it. That Alex has put so much thought into how _he_ might feel about this tells him things might work out between them. Even if it's far too soon to show how hopeful he is about that.

"Like you said. Financially, it makes sense. We don't have to pack up every morning. We can store stuff if we need to instead of dragging bags every place we go. It's probably the best idea you could have for this, Alex. Honestly."

"Good. I'm glad you think so."

"But we'll split gas money. Okay? Take turns to fill up?"

"That would work."

"Then… Honestly? I think this is a pretty good idea."

"And it's not like I intend to stay in the Airstream the whole time. We'll obviously stop. We'll _need_ to stop to do laundry sometimes anyway. And maybe I can find places with Wifi along the way, or to work in. Cafes, or something, like today. And obviously, if it takes a couple of days to at least get the Airstream together, once we find one, we can… motels are still an option. And," Alex says, swallowing and dropping his gaze, only to lift his head as though he's forcing himself to make contact. "I need to work. I have a _lot_ of things I need to do. But if there's somewhere you really want to see, or for us to stop, then… we can try to work that in."

Michael no longer cares how hard he's smiling. Though he does have to bunch his fists in his bed throw to resist the urge to grapple Alex into a hug. "Then, let's do it."

"Are you sure?" Alex asks, hope in his eyes as he bites on his lip.

"Well. We did talk about doing this," Michael says, trying to not let his mind wander to all those hopeful conversations they'd had so long ago. There were so many cities and landmarks they'd planned on seeing in their imaginary road trip of the future that there would have been no logical way of fitting them in. But since they were all a pipe dream anyway, it didn't matter so much.

Now, this _road trip_ of theirs, where Michael follows Alex wherever he is going for whatever reason, is a world away from anything their younger selves could have imagined. And though Michael has found fresh hope in Alex even making the suggestion, there are plenty of things for him to worry about if he lets himself _think_. Which he does now, even when he tries not to, for knowing how those thoughts will spiral.

He worries first that the close proximity will lead to them bickering and old wounds resurfacing; even when he knows that when they're alone together, _bickering_ is something they rarely do. So many of those arguments in the past have been instigated because their time together was coming to an end, and Michael had tried to bring on the sting of Alex leaving early for knowing how much it was going to hurt. This is not then, and they are not the same people now.

Michael worries second that Alex still doesn't really want him with him, that he's only doing this because he's _kind_. That his suggestion that Michael might need to renovate this currently theoretical Airstream of theirs is his attempt to keep him out of his way, or at least at arm's distance. And since his mind is insistent on raising all potential problems at once now he's started, Michael fears how he'll be drawn to Alex as he always is. How he'll reach for him instinctively as he's always done, even in innocent ways like touching him in passing to get wherever he needs to be, and _they_ will hit him. All that they aren't. All that they could be.

Michael pinches his eyes, curses at those fears and sends them elsewhere. "I'm sure, Alex. We can try it at least, right? Worst case scenario, you'll have an Airstream you'll need to sell on. Let's do it."

"Okay. Thanks, Michael," Alex says with his own relieved smile.

"Works for me," Michael replies with an easy shrug, as though he isn't elated by Alex's idea. He's not sending him away. Michael will replay that thought as he tries to sleep, letting it release some of the stiffness from his spine.

"I think it's best I leave this with you?" Alex adds. "To choose something, I mean? I'm not sure I can be trusted after the last… thing."

Michael doesn't even bother to hide his smile for that. "Well, _yeah_, Alex. After that _thing_ you got, I'd say so."

"Then it's all down to you," Alex replies, with another one of those easy smiles that Michael both aches for seeing and wants to see more of. "Thought we could figure something out in Phoenix."

"Phoenix?"

"There's somewhere I need to go here first tomorrow. But yes, Phoenix is next."

"Okay." Michael again bites his tongue to prevent himself from asking more questions.

"I don't know how long it'll take to get something organized. For the Airstream, I mean."

Michael is already planning his online searches to keep him busy in the morning, having the thought that he wants to have this sorted quickly for Alex, to prove to him that it will work. If he's fixing the thing up as they travel, it doesn't matter too much what condition it's in, so long as it runs. He'll get this right for Alex, even when he's got so much else wrong.

"I can't see it taking too long. Is there a… budget?"

Alex stands instead of answering, walks around his bed and over to the desk on the back wall where everything is charging. He opens his laptop bag that is laid out on the chair there and takes out his wallet. Michael watches as he unfolds it, slides out a bank card, then snaps the wallet closed to return it. Alex comes back to him with his unplugged phone, already writing something. Michael's phone buzzes seconds after he finishes, and when he looks at the number on his screen, it isn't one stored in his contacts.

"My details, for when you find an Airstream, for online banking, and... whatever you need, to buy it. I trust you not to get ripped off, and you're far better placed to know what a good price is than I am," Alex adds with a self-deprecating laugh. 

"Okay," Michael says, his thoughts lingering on that word _trust_. There is so much to rebuild between them, but this? This feels like a stepping stone, or at least the possibility of one.

"And that's my _work_ number. Work phone," Alex says, apparently already anticipating Michael's question before he's even really formed it as he pushes his card into his hand. So that's why Alex hasn't responded to any of the messages people have left for him, Michael thinks, feeling stupid for not even realizing before now. His own phone is probably switched off and in the depths of that laptop bag he's always carrying.

"Great. Thanks, Alex," Michael says as he quickly adds, _Alex (work)_ to his contacts.

"You can come with me in the morning. If you want," Alex adds as he moves away again. "It means we can leave right away and not have to come back here."

Michael tries to keep his face neutral even as his mind whirrs with questions. "Well, sure. But if it's a work thing—"

"It's not. I mean, it _is_. But it's not something I need to do anything for. Not—I just need to check something, is all. So if you want to come with, you can."

"Okay, Alex. I'll come, if you want me to."

"It's an old army base near here," Alex tells him, his expression becoming unreadable once more as he goes through his bag to pull out a change of clothes for the morning and something to sleep in now. "I checked it out tonight; I think there isn't anything there to see. But I just want to drive by it again. I was sure I was stationed here briefly, but I must have got the place wrong."

Oh. Perhaps his first instincts about places Alex would be visiting were right. "Well," Michael says, "are you looking for something in particular?"

"I just want to—I just want to check when it was closed, that they didn't leave anything behind."

"You think they might have done?"

"I don't know. It's why I want to check."

"To make sure it's secure?" Michael asks, trying to fit this new information with the picture he's been building of Alex's _work_.

"Yes," Alex says, and the earnestness in his expression has Michael wondering about what kind of _code breaking_ or _cyber security _could possibly be involved. But he doesn't push, only nods in agreement then makes a big deal out of stretching and yawning, so Alex knows he doesn't intend to pursue the conversation any further.

"So. You want to leave early?" he says, picking up his toiletries bag and once more heading for the bathroom, though gesturing to see if Alex wants to go first.

"Not too early," Alex tells him, waving for Michael to go ahead. "It won't take long there, and Phoenix isn't so far from here. Maybe a couple of hours?"

Michael nods as he passes him, locking the bathroom door behind him with a soft sigh. These past few minutes of conversation have given him so many new things to think about. He makes quick work of getting ready for bed, and is beneath his comforter pretending to already be close to sleeping when Alex walks back in after taking his turn. He watches as Alex makes his way over to his bed without his prosthetic, forever making Michael proud at how well he has adapted to losing a part of his leg.

Alex climbs into bed, curling on to his side, though surprising Michael by not turning away from him as he'd been expecting him to. He clears his throat, and Michael is sure there are other things he wants to tell him. Though Michael only hears him then sigh, sees his arm reach up to switch off the light beside his bed.

"Goodnight," Alex says softly as Michael does the same with his light.

"Night, Alex." Michael watches him in the darkness until he's sure Alex is asleep, before trying to sleep himself.

* * *

Their morning starts off quietly again; Michael wonders if this is how it's going to be between them from now on. That Alex will need time every day to readjust to the idea of him being around. The hardest thing for Michael is how _easily_ they move together. Packing their bags, making breakfast, getting ready; all these simple tasks this perfectly coordinated dance as though they've been living together for years. It's _painful_ that they haven't.

When they set off for Alex's _old army base_ he insists on driving again. Though before they leave the motel parking lot Alex pulls his tablet from his bag, quickly types something on the screen, then pushes it into Michael's lap. "I thought maybe you'd want to start searching online. For the Airstream."

Michael finds himself looking at a search engine he's never seen before but doesn't comment, already eager to start his search.

Whatever Alex is looking for at the base doesn't appear to be there. Michael has his head down, _researching_ when they stop, and Alex jumps out to patrol outside the already-rusted gate. When Alex picks the lock with ease and silently slips inside, Michael is braced to follow him if he needs to, his stomach in nervous knots until he sees Alex walking back towards him just a few minutes later with a look on his face he wishes he could interpret. He's getting that a _lot_. Michael hates that he can't read him as easily as he's always been able to in the past, that _he's_ at least part of the reason Alex has developed these new walls. Until now, Michael thinks he's been the only one who has ever been able to slip around them all.

The drive to Phoenix is quiet. Michael is busy with his searches but not so busy he can't keep sneaking glances in Alex's direction, smiling when he looks so Alex knows he's there to talk to if he wants to. Alex reaches to check something on his phone, adjusting the stand on the dashboard a little so he can see it better. Michael sneaks a look at the address, but has no clue what he's looking for. When they come to a stop, he first looks at what he thinks is their destination, and then at Alex for an explanation.

The building they are idling across the street from clearly is not what Alex expected. It doesn't take too much of a leap of imagination to know Alex didn't drive all the way here to Phoenix to come to a casino. He keeps looking at his phone, and then looking up at the casino then looking around like he's missing something. Michael wants to ask what he's looking for, but doesn't.

"There should be another building here," Alex says eventually, quickly writing something on his phone. He sags back in his seat and grabs the back of his head in obvious frustration. Michael wishes that he could help.

"What kind of building?"

"It was a hospital. An old military hospital. Only a small place, but it was… it should have been _here_."

"What do you want to do, Alex?" Michael hates the confusion on Alex's face, hates not being able to fix whatever it is that's obviously wrong.

"This casino opened three years ago," Alex says then, sinking back further into his seat, frowning. "I have to think that's a good thing?"

"Okay?"

"Michael," Alex says, turning in his seat so he's looking more directly at him, "there are former Air Force bases—and other military bases, or units, facilities, etc.—all over North America, that haven't been… that weren't closed, and secured, as well as they should have been."

Michael imagines rusting old buildings and dust-filled barracks, and can't match those images with the look on Alex's face. "What are you saying?"

"Well, for example. A base that was closed in Michigan last summer left ammunition and some pretty heavy firearms equipment behind in a bunker. Kids broke in during a Fall break, looked around, caused chaos when they went home brandishing all these military-issued weapons."

Michael understands better, but still doesn't think he understands at all. "So… I thought your new work was all about code breaking?"

"Yeah. Security is a part of that, Michael."

"So, part of what you're doing is… checking some of these bases are actually gone? Emptied properly, at least?" There has to be something he's missing. He can't read Alex's expression, but there is far more to this story than he's telling him, Michael is adamant.

"I can't tell you everything," Alex says softly, almost tinged with an apology that Michael doesn't need.

"Just tell me you're not doing anything that's going to get you into trouble. That wherever we're headed, you're not gonna get… I don't know. Caught, or something."

Alex smiles, and this is his _soldier_ smile, the one that is Michael's least favorite on him; for all the times Alex has left, and for imagining what Alex might be doing overseas, and for fearing what tasks he might be asked to complete that will steal another part of who he is. "I can tell you that this is the safest work I've ever done. Does that help?"

Michael narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Not entirely?"

"It's all I have," Alex replies, shrugging with more of that soft apology.

"Well. Then I guess I'm just gonna have to take your word for it that you're okay. You are okay, right, Alex?"

"I will be," Alex tells him as he spins the truck around, "right after we've had lunch. I'm starving."

* * *

Michael leaves Alex in the cafe they stop in for lunch, with three possible Airstreams he has in mind to check out. The first two are write-offs the moment he sees them, leaving him worried that this plan might not come together as easy as he's hoped it would. But the third looks promising even as he pulls up outside.

There is no visible rust that he can see, and only the one window looks like it needs replacing. The entire exterior needs a really good clean and polish, but otherwise looks pretty good. He tells himself not to get his hopes up too much, quickly turning when he hears approaching footsteps.

"Michael?"

Michael holds out his hand to shake, taking in the man wearing a Diamondbacks baseball cap and gray t-shirt with the Captain America emblem stretched across his stomach. He has a kind smile, an honest one, the creases in his face a sign of a life filled with laughter; Michael instantly feels comfortable in his presence. "You must be Gary."

"You find us okay?" Gary asks as he pats him on the shoulder and gestures for Michael to follow.

"Yeah."

"Well. As you probably already saw, she needs a good clean," Gary tells him, waving his hand over the side of the Airstream. "Poppy and I lived out of this old girl for a while. Took the kids on vacation every summer for maybe ten years after. Had some good times."

"I don't doubt it," Michael replies, tempted to say that he also lives in an Airstream but stopping himself.

"Now. I don't need to tell you that the decor might've changed a few times in all those years. I think the last time we changed anything was something like '85, '87, something like that. Not that you'd _know_ it was that decade," Gary adds with a laugh as he leads Michael inside.

The floor is completely bare, stripped right back to its base. The cabinets are all wooden, and dated, itching to be sanded down and treated to show at their best. And when Michael looks, the stove, oven, and fridge he thinks might not look out of place in a modern history museum. Coupled with the orange curtains and the brown couches, the interior of the Airstream looks like something straight out of some retro '70s magazine. Isobel would _love_ it.

"Everything works pretty well," Gary tells him as they walk through, opening doors and showing him how both the couches fold down into beds. "Kitchen appliances aren't like they make them now; these things are built to really _last_. Bathroom looks old, I know," Gary says as they look, holding his hands up in defense, "don't ask me why we thought gray would be a good color for a bathroom suite in this tiny little space, but, we did. Works okay though."

Michael would take the Airstream yesterday, already itching to start renovating it. Though he tries to keep his expression neutral, hoping not to appear too eager and push up the price.

"Now. That window needs fixing," Gary says, pointing to the window over the kitchen sink. "My grandson thinks he's Robbie Ray, or something."

Michael looks at the perfect baseball-shaped hole in the window and smiles. "Kid's got good aim."

"He does that," Gary agrees with pride in his voice as he clasps Michael on the shoulder again in passing. "So. She's a 1968 Airstream Safari. Twenty-two foot. Had I don't know how many tire changes. But she's sound. Good, solid chassis with not a speck of rust. I wouldn't be selling you a pile of rust. Couldn't do it on good conscience."

"She looks good," Michael says as he looks around. The Airstream is probably as close to perfect as they're going to get on such short notice. And even on short notice, Michael thinks they've got themselves quite the deal. If it's still on offer, that is.

"Tell me, Michael," Gary says, folding his arms and studying him once they're back outside. "Why are you wanting to purchase my Airstream?"

Michael doesn't know what to tell him, though feels the need to be as honest as he can. "I might be on the road for a while. Not really sure where I'm headed, or how long for. My—the person I'm traveling with doesn't really like the idea of a new motel every night. I have one of these things back home, so I know they're good. Solid. Plus, I'm a mechanic; at least, I fix a lot of cars. Bikes, trucks; whatever, really."

"Thinking of fixing her up as you go?" Gary asks, nodding like he understands him.

"Yeah. Thinking about it."

"And you're towing her on this truck?" Gary adds, slapping his hand against the side of it.

"Yeah."

Gary nods again, once more clasping his shoulder. "Well. We towed her on something similar for a while. You'll have no problems, I'm sure."

"I think we'll be good."

"You not in Phoenix for long, Michael?"

"I think we'll be heading out as soon as we can." To wherever Alex wants them to go to next. Michael now has a vague idea of what Alex is _doing_ with all this traveling around, even if he still doesn't quite get it.

"So. If you can arrange a transfer of funds, I can have her ready for you, say, tomorrow?"

Michael's heart thuds in excitement. "Sounds good to me."

"Great," Gary says, beckoning for Michael to follow him back to his house. "Now. Come in. Meet Poppy. We'll talk on price."

* * *

"So. I got us something," Michael says as he rushes back into the cafe, both excited and desperate for Alex to like the idea.

Alex looks up from his laptop slightly dazed as though he's been concentrating on the screen for too long. His eyes linger over Michael's face, and as he pushes against the table to stretch, the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. "Already?"

"Yeah. I'm as surprised as you."

"Well, that's… that's great, Michael."

"We'll have to stay in another motel tonight because we're not picking it up until tomorrow," Michael adds as he slides down into the seat opposite him. "I booked us a place."

"Michael." Alex's hand twitches like he means to reach out to squeeze his against the table. "I was expecting this to take at least a few days. I wasn't even sure we'd find one here."

"We really lucked out." Michael falls over himself trying to tell Alex everything about the Airstream at once, about Gary and his wife Poppy and the dog they have named Burt who kept bumping his head against his leg for a cookie when Poppy made him tea. He tells him about the Airstream, and how it looks, and how he thinks they can get away with traveling as it is, that he'll renovate one part of it at a time. When he's finished he sits back, holding his breath, hoping Alex thinks it's worth the price.

Alex presses back in his seat again and laughs when Michael passes him his bank card back along with a hand-written receipt from Gary. "How did you do that?"

"What?"

"Get us an Airstream in literally hours, that's in at least working condition, and hasn't cost the earth?"

Michael sags in relief, letting his head fall back against the seat. "I lucked out."

"You're far better at this sort of thing than I am."

"Well, that's why you asked me to do it," Michael says, winking without thinking and immediately freezing for it.

Alex only smiles easier. "I know you wouldn't have forgiven me if I'd come back with something like the last… thing."

"Oh, I think I'd forgive you just about anything."

"You used to get pissed at me for using up all the towels…"

"Alex. No normal person needs _four_ towels every time they take a shower. No one."

Alex grins at him. Michael holds his breath; what are they doing here? It feels like _them_; playful, and teasing, and flirting in the way that they have always done. But they're in such strange territory now; how can he not be worried that the mood will dip again?

"Well. Speaking of a shower. I could really do with one. There is _no_ air conditioning in this place," Alex says with a grimace, rolling his neck as though he's too hot. Alex is only in a t-shirt, and now that he's looking Michael thinks he's kind of pink in the face. And now he's aware of the heat of the cafe Michael can already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his shirt.

"Well. Room's ready now if you want to head over? Not far from here."

Alex nimbly slides from his seat already packing his bag, plucking at his t-shirt in distaste. It still clings to him in places. "Yeah. I need to."

Michael leads him outside, the relief of fresh air making both of them sigh. He jumps in the truck with Alex quickly following, both of them cranking down the windows for more of that air. "Okay. Let's go."

"Michael. Thank you for doing this," Alex says, smiling when Michael looks his way.

Michael nods as he fires up the engine and smiles, turning the car out to join the traffic. "No problem."

* * *

"Michael. _Michael_."

Michael startles awake for the nudge against his arm, shrinking back into his pillow for the outline he can see in the dark.

"It's only me."

Michael relaxes on realizing it is Alex's voice he is hearing, shakily reaching out to switch on the bedside light. "What happened?"

"You were dreaming," Alex says, blinking against the brightness now spilling into the room, as Michael is doing. When Michael's eyes adjust to it he can see the look of concern on Alex's face. Damn.

"I was?"

"Yeah. You were moving around, mumbling something under your breath. I couldn't catch it, but you sounded—it didn't sound like a good dream, Michael," Alex says, his hand flinching like he means to reach out to touch him again.

"Yeah. Uh… I don't even really remember what it was about," Michael says as he rubs his eyes and rolls on to his back. He's lying. Alex doesn't need to know he just spent however long he's been asleep reliving every moment he's walked away from him, warped and made more menacing in a claustrophobic dreamscape. Though this isn't even a new dream. Michael thinks he's had snatches of it ever since Alex left Roswell.

"Are you okay, though?"

Michael blinks, looks Alex over and realizes he's leaning against the side of his bed, his knee on the edge of it for balance. "I'm fine. It's okay, Alex. Go back to sleep."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah," Michael insists, carefully moving and shuffling down the bed to slide out of it beside him. It's late, or early, or whatever time it is, so his normal hesitance isn't quite working. He holds his hand out for Alex to use to move back to his own bed.

Alex doesn't hesitate either, leaning his weight on Michael's arm just to turn around and hop back. Michael waits until he's settled then makes his way to the bathroom, scowling at his reflection in the mirror when he's done.

Alex's smile for him when he returns to the room is small and uncertain. Michael takes a bottle of water from their fridge waving it for Alex, and taking a second when he nods. "Okay?"

"Yeah, Alex, I'm fine. Seriously," Michael says as he drops on to the side of his bed and drains half his bottle.

"I've never known you to have bad dreams. You were really moving around," Alex says as he uncaps his bottle and takes a drink, his eyes never leaving him.

Michael's had plenty of bad dreams over the years, many of them involving all the ways he could lose Alex. Alex doesn't need to know about those either, so he shrugs, takes another gulp of water then pushes the bottle on to the nightstand. "Happens sometimes. Though nothing like yours I would think?"

Alex's nightmares are awful, agonizing things at times. Michael's tried to wake him for some of them, and has held him through several that have left him thrashing around. He imagines there must be far worse he's had that he doesn't even know about. So the look of concern on Alex's face is understandable even if it is unfounded. Alex always came back to him, even if they aren't together now. Those _dreams_ that taunt Michael sometimes can't compare to the hell Alex's must entail for all the things he must remember and have to bear.

"I haven't had a bad one in a while," Alex replies with a pinched smile. "I thought maybe after my leg, they would have been worse. But the last few months, they're—I guess they're easier? That they've shifted, somehow."

"Well. I'm pleased to hear that, at least."

Alex nods, glancing his way again then sliding down in the bed, turning on to his side. "So. We should sleep some more?"

"Sure."

"I have some work I need to do first thing in the morning," Alex adds, already yawning.

"Yeah, me too." Michael falls back to sleep listing all the things he intends to do. Gary has booked him in for a window change, and he's scrubbing the exterior clean outside Gary's house before. He has a few things to buy for the Airstream so that when they set off in it, they'll be at least comfortable. As he succumbs to sleep, Michael looks forward to having things to keep him busy, thinking his morning might be as occupied as Alex's is, whatever he's doing.

* * *

Alex wakes first in the morning. Michael hears him moving around the room but keeps his eyes closed needing a few more minutes before he's ready to face the world. He listens as Alex drains his bottle of water then walks through to the bathroom, apparently taking another shower. Michael gives himself until Alex switches the water off before he pushes himself upright for a yawn and stretch. He feels _heavy_, knowing it's because his sleep was interrupted. Though, when hasn't it been of late?

Michael smiles when he hears Alex cursing, though pauses from dressing to make sure he isn't struggling. When Alex swings the bathroom door open minutes later, Michael has stripped his bed and packed his bag, with his mental list continuing to build for all the things he needs to do this morning.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Alex."

"Did you sleep okay eventually?"

"I did," Michael agrees, grabbing his toiletries bag. "I'm sorry that I woke you."

"I've woken you enough times," Alex replies with an easy shrug, already organizing his bag. "You want coffee?"

"Always."

Michael takes his turn in the bathroom, checking his reflection in the mirror and thinking it will soon be time for him to shave. At least a little. Alex is still perfectly clean shaven even though he doesn't need to be for work anymore. As he brushes his teeth Michael wonders what Alex might be like with a little permanent stubble. He glares at his reflection for letting his mind wander too far.

As he rinses Michael hears Alex's voice in the room. When he goes back in to find Alex on _his_ phone with his back to him, talking with soft, apologetic laughter and a smile in his voice. Bile rises in Michael's throat when he realizes Alex is talking to _Kyle_.

"I know," Alex is saying, "I'll be in contact. Yeah. I will. Okay. Bye."

"What did he want?" Michael bites out before he can stop himself, making Alex spin around in surprise.

"Just checking in. I'm sorry. I only saw your phone was about to fall from the nightstand with it vibrating. I saw his name, I picked up without thinking."

"Did he wait for me to be out of the room to call, or something?" Michael says, stomping across the room to stuff his toiletries away in his bag.

"He's not _that_ smart."

"His timing sure is something, though, isn't it?" Michael doesn't even know why he's letting himself get so annoyed.

"I… don't know?" Alex says, making his way around the room to his bed after passing Michael a cup of coffee.

"He always seems to know exactly where you are. Or aren't. And what you _need_, apparently," Michael says as he all but drains his cup, which is far too hot. He doesn't care.

"So, what are you saying?" Alex asks, staring at him more curiously, far more cautiously sipping at his coffee as he does.

Michael grits his teeth, doing everything he can to make himself busy. "Nothing."

"It's not _nothing_, Michael."

"It's _fine_."

"But _what_ is fine?" Alex asks, looking increasingly confused. How does he not get it?

"Just think it's _odd_ how you and Valenti have been spending all this time together, is all. All that hell he put you through in high school—"

"Was ten years ago," Alex retorts. "Are you saying you don't think people are capable of learning and growing—_changing_—in a decade?"

Well, how is he supposed to argue with _that_? Though Michael wants to. Badly. All the anger he's felt at the thought of all the time Alex has been spending with _Kyle Valenti_ is making his blood boil. _Has_ made it boil. He'd had a moment of hoping he and Alex would talk on the way out to Caulfield, to work on them being _friends_, and look where that had got them? He's been mad about that in particular ever since. He'd had to spend time _alone_ with Kyle, enough time to realize he wasn't such a bad guy after all. And long enough to let his jealousy show itself no matter how he argued with himself to hide it. Kyle's _look_ for him as they'd dropped him off said far too many things that Michael had glared back at Kyle for, daring him to say them out loud.

"It's not the _point_, Alex," Michael says, even if Alex's point is more than valid.

"Well, then, what is the point?"

"You don't think it's _odd_ spending all that time with someone who used to be your bully?"

"He also used to be my _friend_. And he's done so much to be my friend _now_. Are you saying you don't think I should have him in my life either? Michael," Alex says, his voice catching as it raises, "I had _nobody_ back there. You might not like him, but Kyle was all I had _left_. I had _nothing_."

"I didn't say that," Michael says, even though that is what his words have been implying. How would he ever deny Alex anything; even a friendship with _Kyle_? But it's the closeness that gets to him, the ease they shared in each other's company, the way _Kyle_ was the one who sought him out to tell him Alex was gone.

"Then I don't know what you're saying," Alex tells him, frustrated as he paces away.

"I—I don't know either, Alex. I don't."

"You aren't making any sense."

"I _know_," Michael says, reaching out to grab Alex's arm before he can get too far. "And I'm sorry. I just… it's a lot, okay? Getting my head around the idea that you and him are… that you're…"

"_Friends_?" Alex suggests for him. Though his expression changes then to one of dawning realization. "Are you thinking… Michael, are you saying—"

"You spend a lot of time with the guy," Michael points out, now finding it impossible to make eye contact. "He's always at your cabin. You guys go out for drinks."

"Because we're _friends_," Alex says, exasperated. "Are you telling me you don't think he's been a good friend to _your_ family?"

_You're my family_, Michael almost blurts out, stopped only for the reminder of how careful and caring Kyle had been with Isobel, and even Max when he'd tried to heal her and failed. "I know."

"Then, whatever this anger is about? It's about _you_," Alex says, soft with him though also firm with his words. "Kyle hasn't done anything wrong here."

Michael feels foolish, and angry, and so very small. He zips up his bag with such force that the zipper makes a high-pitched whizz as he closes it, throwing it over his shoulder and grabbing a jacket that he didn't bother to pack. "We have the room until 12. I'll be back by then."

"Michael—"

"I'll see you later, Alex," he says already out the door. He doesn't trust his words not to let him down if he stays.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your next [survey](https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/BMG3RHK)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Just so you can see the colours you chose in the last survey, as well as floorplan of the Airstream as a guide, here is the  
[ link to the survey](https://mansikkaomenabanaani.tumblr.com/post/188019073427/hello-here-is-what-you-voted-formore-also) post on Tumblr if you didn't already see it.
> 
> Also. Since when I started preparing the next part of the story the chapter turned out pretty long, i'm splitting it in two. Today you get the first half with no survey, and the second part on Wednesday with the survey. Happy reading!

Michael is furious with himself by the time he gets to Gary's. He grits his teeth before pulling up trying to talk himself out of his mood, fixing a smile on his face before climbing up the porch. Gary and his wife don't need to bear the brunt of it. Burt hears him coming, his soft woofs of greeting from inside the house helping Michael calm.

Gary and Poppy are good people. They insist on feeding him breakfast then help Michael wash the Airstream down. It doesn't take too much effort, and between them, they're done in under half an hour. When they're returning the cloths, buckets, and poles to the house Gary points to a can of paint on the workbench in the garage.

"It's bathroom paint," he says as he hands it to Michael, "if you want it. Light blue. I figured you'll want to paint the rest of her whatever colors you come up with, but if you want this for the bathroom, then it's yours. One less thing to buy."

"Thanks, Gary," Michael says as he takes the paint, laughing as he then hands him a pack of unopened paintbrushes.

"Quicker I clear this garage out, quicker I get me a room for my things," Gary tells him, leaning in as though it's a secret, and even _winking_ in conspiracy.

"And for _things_, it means he's been coveting this idea about a model railway for about three years," Polly adds as she rejoins them with a fond smile.

Poppy has boxed up their old kitchen things and some spare curtains, and also pushes a Tupperware box of homemade cookies on Michael when Gary hands over the two sets of keys back outside the Airstream.

"You're loaded up with water," Gary says when they're done with everything, and Burt has given up on being quite so excited by all the activity. He is asleep at Michael's feet as they talk. Michael feels claimed, in the best kind of way.

"I can't thank you enough for all this," Michael says, determined to pour even more of himself into fixing up this Airstream to do right by Alex. Gary helps him hook the Airstream to the truck, clasping his shoulder as they say goodbye. The moment Michael is back with only his own thoughts for company, his and Alex's argument in the motel room comes back to him, repeating over and over. He tries to ignore it, speeding up and determined to get as much done to for the Airstream as he can.

Michael first heads to fix the window which both takes no time at all and far too long. Michael has already checked directions for somewhere to buy the parts he wants to change first in the Airstream, so the moment the window is in he asks to leave her parked up for an hour or so while he shops. Though he checks through the kitchen box Poppy gave him first and is glad he does; she's given him plates, cups, dishes, and cutlery, and even a few pots, pans, and cooking utensils. Michael is so touched by the gesture that it takes him a minute to look it all over again before carefully unpacking the box and find everything a new home, smiling as he crosses a number of items off his shopping list.

Michael walks into a store just minutes later telling himself not to go crazy. He has money of his own to use but can't help thinking of the money Isobel has given him; even knowing its source doesn't encourage him to overspend. Michael winces at the total when everything is rung up but knows he's done well for what he's spent, flipping Noah off in his head as he walks outside with his cart.

Intending to do as many of the small jobs he can this morning, Michael then stops at a hardware store to buy tools, bulbs, and a paint called Almond Sugar that he thinks will make the Airstream look bigger, or at least light. For the floor, he chooses a dark wood effect vinyl to go throughout after double-checking his measurements from the copious notes he made yesterday.

Michael's final trip is to Ikea, where he buys bedding and pillows, along with some dish towels and bath towels. There are so many other things he wants to pick up as well to make the Airstream look homely, but he's already got his work cut out with things to fit, fix, and decorate. And when he paints they might need another night in a motel depending on how long it takes to dry. They might be cramped in there for a couple of days as he gets everything he wants put together; Michael is already envisioning frayed tempers for them both for the lack of space. He hopes it won't come to that.

Michael returns to his truck now laden down with purchases, securing everything for the drive back. Once in the Airstream, he pulls his list from his back pocket to check things off, sure he's got enough work to keep him busy for at least a couple of days, if not longer. Alex's Wifi stuff Michael intends to choose with him, or let Alex do alone since that seems far more his area of expertise, so he circles that item on his list and is pleased for how many things he can cross off so quickly. When he looks around, Michael is relieved to see that pretty much everything he's bought is stored away not taking up too much room.

Michael piles up all the packaging from his purchases and scopes out the parking lot of where he's fixed the window, taking everything over to their trash and tucking it in out of sight. He returns to the Airstream smiling as he walks for the sight of her now-polished exterior, taking his shirt off the moment he's inside for being too warm already. Michael quickly surveys his surroundings again and makes a mental list of everything he intends to do, eating one of Poppy's cookies before getting to work.

* * *

By just after eleven, Michael has done everything he thinks he can do to at least get them started on this _journey_ they're taking. He's pleased with his efforts and hopes that Alex will be as well. After their argument this morning, all these _things_ he's bought and done for the Airstream he feels like are efforts to placate him, and Michael feels foolish for the gesture they make. But they need this Airstream to work out, and Michael needed some outlet for his mood earlier. So he's cleaned, and done all the jobs he could do quickly, and is now making his way back to the motel rehearsing what he wants to say to Alex.

He pulls up outside the motel half-expecting Alex to be stood outside the room waiting for him. But he isn't. Michael rehashes a few of his words testing them out on repeat, then knocks on the motel door before going in, wearing his best sheepish smile as he steps inside.

"Listen, Alex, I'm sorry about before."

Alex is packed, sat waiting at the end of his bed, with no sign of any work in progress. His hands are slotted together in his lap. He looks both worried and relieved; Michael thinks he should be getting used to seeing Alex wear opposing expressions at the same time.

"Okay," Alex says, cautious as he stands.

"Really. I am."

"You should know. It's _never_ been like that between us. With Kyle, I mean. Not once."

Michael shouldn't feel as relieved as he does, or try to read into why Alex is so adamant about what he is telling him. "Okay. I just… maybe I overreact sometimes."

"I know," Alex agrees with a stiff smile, "you do. But I shouldn't have answered your phone anyway. And I didn't mean to make you… I'm sorry too."

"Believe me," Michael says, still mad at himself for lashing out so unnecessarily, "you have _nothing_ you need to be sorry for."

"Okay. Are we… ready to go?"

"We are," Michael tells him, now flighty and anxious again about what is waiting outside.

"I already handed in the room key," Alex adds, picking up his bags. Michael holds the door open and ushers him through it.

The Airstream is gleaming. There are a couple of panels Michael wants to hammer out to flatten dents from later but it's nothing urgent, only cosmetic. He unlocks the door and tugs it open, gesturing for Alex to go in first. Michael tells himself he shouldn't be holding his breath as Alex climbs his newly installed steps, having replaced the old ones for not wanting Alex to stumble on his prosthetic.

"So. It needs work. And I've shoved a lot of stuff in the various closets places just so I'm not taking up a ton of space," Michael says the second he joins him inside, ready to explain himself. "I plan on painting it. Though I thought wherever we stop next I'll get the floor down first, because we really need it throughout as soon as possible. We're good for tonight, but if we can make time for it tomorrow, that'd be good."

"We definitely can," Alex says softly, putting his bags on the kitchen counter, smiling as he turns around to look.

"It's a new stove," Michael says as he gestures at the three-ring burner that was one of the first things he installed when back from shopping. "The oven and fridge are good enough as they are. I replaced a few parts on the water heater, so that should be working just fine now. New filters too. Everything else was just small stuff. Door catches, some hinges, stuff like that."

"It looks _great_, Michael. Really."

"We have new curtains," Michael adds as he tugs at the green ones Poppy gave him currently up at the window. "I thought we'd have these ones up for privacy for now, and I'll change them once I've painted."

"Okay," Alex says, that smile on his face continuing to grow.

"I left you this closet," he says, waving Alex forward and opening the closet door opposite his own. Clothes hangers are already on his list of things he still needs to buy, along with a laundry hamper. "Oh, I fixed the few things we needed to with the water storage too. We're good for a few days, but if we stop on a site with hook ups we'll be good for longer. Just need to keep topping up. And the shower's pretty good. I had to clean up a little."

"You've done so much," Alex says, soft, and in awe as he continues to look around.

"Oh," Michael says, ducking back into the bathroom. He reaches into the closet beside the shower and pulls out a stack of blue towels, pressing them into Alex's arms. "Just not all at once, huh?"

Alex's laughter is infectious as he nudges Michael out of the way to return the towels to their closet, running his hand over the softness of them before closing the door. "Okay."

"And I figured, you take the main bed," Michael adds as he passes by him, careful not to touch. "I think in the original version of this thing it was two twins, but Gary must have converted it into one. It folds down easy enough. You can work at the table when it's folded up, and we'll eat there when we eat inside. I'll take the other bed. It'll be just like home."

"Michael—"

"Bedding's underneath," Michael says, crouching down to show him where it's stored. "Pattern's called _Emmie Ruta_, which might be the most _normal_ name I've ever seen in an Ikea." He says it knowing it will twist Alex's face up in a smile.

"That's fairly normal, yes."

"There's plenty of storage space under there for your laptop stuff as well. At least, there will be once I've got rid of the flooring, and paint cans and stuff. And I think there are enough sockets for us both. We'll definitely have to not overdo it with electric, but if we stop often enough we'll be fine. And for now, I think that's everything."

"Okay—"

"Though I'm gonna need you at some point to go through here with me for a list of stuff we need to get. Groceries for today, obviously. We'll stop at a Target, or something, pick up a couple of other things for the kitchen. Knives and stuff. But aside from that, I think we're good to go. Everything's pretty great, actually. I think we really lucked out with this thing."

"It's perfect," Alex tells him, with this beautiful wide smile that says _thank you_, even before he gets the words out. "And I'll charge what I can when I work when we stop. I also have some power banks I can use."

"We'll need to visit a laundromat once a week, or something," Michael adds, still going through his mental list of things to tell him. "I was going to buy one of those portable machines for the bathroom, but we don't exactly have the space to dry stuff."

"That's fine."

"So. My plan is, floor first, then paint, then… I don't know what, exactly, but some repairs and stuff I'll do in here if I need to. I want to sand the wood down, get it treated," Michael says, gesturing around them and patting a kitchen cupboard. "But it's not urgent. The bathroom suite is fine, but needs updating, changing, whatever. I guess we could paint it, but we'll see."

"You've done so _much_," Alex says again, still with that beautiful wide smile. "_Thank_ you."

"We needed to do it."

"But not _overnight_. Not—Michael. You've made this Airstream feel like a home already. I didn't expect all this."

"You wanted it," Michael says, shrugging; even though he's relieved beyond anything. "And we needed it. It's gonna take some time to get used to it, but we might as well start off as good as we can, right?"

"Right."

"I've put some cardboard down from the boxes in the bathroom for when you shower for now. Just until I get the flooring down tomorrow. But I think we're good to go. Or set off, at least. Get lunch first, or… whatever you want."

There is tension in Alex's shoulders as he looks at him, and brightness in his eyes. Michael has no idea what to expect from him but is then laughing in surprise for Alex launching himself at him for a hug. Michael smiles against his shoulder and gets his arms around him quickly, not sure how long this opportunity is going to last.

"_Thank you_," Alex says again, muffled into his shirt. He isn't letting go, and Michael doesn't want to, but if they stay like this any longer, he won't want to let go of Alex at all. He already doesn't.

"Don't need to keep thanking me, Alex," Michael says, gently pushing him back so they're at arm's length, then nudging him back a little more. "Way I see it, for however long we're going, wherever we're going, this place is my home too. We needed a decent base for us both."

Alex's smile is watery, but he quickly reins it in. "I know. I just… we talked about this two days ago. And look at this place already. You're… I can't even get my head around it."

"Don't need to," Michael says, shrugging, even if he's possibly doing a little dance of victory inside. "Tell you something though. I'm gonna need lunch, like _now_. Lots of it. I'm _starved_."

"Wherever you want, Michael," Alex says, his voice soft and still filled with awe. Which Michael loves, but doesn't need; though since they're still in that little bubble of closeness he reaches out to squeeze him on the arm then passes, nudging for him to follow.

"You wanna see how she drives?" he calls back, holding the truck keys out for Alex as he pushes the second set of Airstream keys into his other hand.

Alex takes the keys from his grip and grins, waving for Michael to lead the way out.

* * *

After lunch they stop for groceries, the cupboards and fridge now stocked enough to make it feel like a real kitchen. Michael folds up the boxes and bags, stowing them away in the Target trash before they pull out of the parking lot.

"So? Where are we headed?"

"California," Alex says, hesitating before they lock up the Airstream and head for the truck. "Do you mind driving?"

"Fine with me. You need to work?"

"No. I did everything I needed to this morning. But I… maybe I'll drive next time? I haven't towed anything like this before. Not for any distance, anyway."

"Of course," Michael says, climbing into the driver's seat. When Alex is in, Michael nods at his phone. "You gonna put in the directions?"

They set off for California, driving for about five hours, then start looking for somewhere to stop for the night. The Airstream and their plans for it takes up most of their conversation. By the time they stop their list of things they want to buy is full, and Michael has a firmer itinerary in his head of what he wants to do and when.

Alex insists that he cook, shooing Michael from the kitchen insisting that he rest, and that if he can't rest then he should at least sit to write their list. For quickness, Alex bought a ready-made spaghetti and meatball dish that looks amazing, though it takes the two of them a little while to figure out how to make the oven work. They eat at their table washing back their dinner with beer, surveying their new surroundings with pride; Michael can't remember the last time he felt so at home anywhere.

As well as cooking their dinner, Alex beats him to washing the dishes as well. Michael sprawls out on the couch that is his bed reading articles in his magazines as Alex goes for a shower, looking up to catch the smile on Alex's face when he comes back through.

"What?"

"The bathroom," Alex says, "it's perfect. The shower, the sink; it's such a small space, but it works really well. Especially for my leg."

Alex can probably move the entire length of the Airstream without his prosthetic if he needs to, for all the convenient heights of the counters and cabinets. To see him so at ease makes Michael smile.

"That's great."

"You can sit here too, if you want," Alex calls out softly, and when Michael tilts his head back Alex is waving to one side of _his_ couch.

Michael hadn't wanted to presume but doesn't need a second invitation. He stands quickly, grabbing them beers from the fridge in passing before joining him. "Think you'll be comfortable here tonight?"

"I think so."

"We can always get mattress toppers or something if they're not," Michael adds, squeezing the couch cushion beneath him. His bed feels fine, and Alex's seems comfortable enough to sit on, but he's already checked for size and where to buy if they need to.

"We'll try tonight. Honestly, I think I'll just sleep better for knowing we don't have to find another place to stay."

"That was worrying you?" Michael asks, sad to think Alex has been worrying about anything in silence.

"Not worrying so much as having no clue where the next place would be. I really should have put more thought into it."

Michael nods, hit with fresh guilt that he is at least a part of the reason that Alex _ran_ the way he did. "Well, we have somewhere now."

"I've never really had to think about it before. Where my accommodation would be. Apart from when I came back to see _you_," Alex adds, "but that was different."

Michael wants to ask _how_, but doesn't. "Yeah. I guess."

"The first night I was out in the desert—with the Air Force, I mean—it was the weirdest feeling," Alex says, absently taking out his laptop to put on the table between them.

"I bet."

"It was far colder than I'd expected, and even though I was surrounded by people, I felt like I was out there in the middle of nowhere, totally alone."

Michael doesn't like the images Alex's words are conjuring for him, hating the thought of Alex being lonely or vulnerable anywhere. "And you were a _kid_."

"Yeah," Alex agrees with a soft smile for him. "And the only experience I had of sleeping anywhere but at home back then, was with _you_. In the truck."

Instantly Michael is transported back to nights spent in his truck, where they'd lay together making out for hours, falling asleep in the curve of each other's arms. The few months they'd spent together before _Jesse Manes_ had happened are by far some of the most precious memories Michael has. Even with what came next, and how nothing has ever been as easy between them since, or been for more than a few short days or weeks at a time. Michael has told himself time and time again to walk away from Alex because of how difficult everything has been. But how could he ever ignore the wants of his heart?

"Well. Then you were used to the cold, then, at least," Michael says, preventing further memories from rising up.

"I was never cold with you. Not once."

It's going to be really, really difficult to handle this small space they now share together if Alex is going to continue to bring up these memories that Michael cherishes so much. Though how is he supposed to tell him to stop, when he doesn't want him to?

"Still. I can't even imagine what it must have been like. Having to fall asleep on alert for whatever might happen out there," Michael says, trying to steer the subject.

"I don't think I slept for hours, and then only just before dawn. I could hear everything. The stillness in the desert, any animals or insects out there. Noises from our camp. Everything was far sharper for where we were."

"Did it take a while to get used to?"

"Well. Falling asleep _alert_ I guess I already learned from living with my _dad_," Alex says, his expression darkening. Michael instantly wants to take it away.

"You didn't have to deal with him as much when you were over there, though, right?"

"Still more than I'd have liked."

"I know what you mean about the falling asleep alert thing, though," Michael blurts out without thinking, hating the look it puts in Alex's eyes.

"The group home? Foster homes?"

"All of the above. But not like you out in the desert. Not like my life was on the line, or anything."

Alex's lips press together in a thin, angry line. He opens his mouth to speak, and Michael expects to hear words about how foster care is supposed to involve _caring_. But Alex then stops himself, licks his lips and tries again.

"Once I got used to it, it was… there was almost a sense of feeling _more_ secure? For having so many people around, who'd done the same training, knew how to use the same weapons. But then I guess so much of the time we had to get sleep when we could, take shifts keeping guard. It just became _normal_. My first night back in Roswell on my own I couldn't sleep for how closed in it felt, how silent it was."

"It should be pretty quiet here tonight," Michael says, hoping more than anything that the Airstream is somewhere Alex can sleep in peace.

"Yes. But you'll be here. And it's—I got used to the quiet fairly quickly anyway. I just remember how strange it felt that first night out there, and just… I was just thinking, is all. Do you want to watch something?" Alex says then, opening the laptop in an abrupt change of subject. It throws Michael, pulling him in another direction. But he reins in the confusion he feels and gives an easy shrug.

"Sure?"

"I downloaded some episodes of that show you like."

"...which?"

Alex smiles as he types, turning the laptop and making it full screen. Though first he turns more to Michael and stares at him with a raised eyebrow. "No shouting. No condescending language telling the presenters what's impossible or isn't. Okay? You've had a long day. Just _watch_."

Michael laughs, and when he sees _Ancient Aliens_ appear on the screen laughs harder. He stretches out mirroring Alex on the couch and settles, thinking their first night in the Airstream could be going far worse.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

"You want us to stop _here_?"

Alex smiles as he cuts off the engine, climbing out of the truck without a word. Michael checks out the view from the window before jumping out himself, breathing in fresh, slightly salty air.

"I thought, if you need to spend however long it's going to take to do the flooring, you might as well have a nice view. I'm going to find a cafe or something to work in," Alex says as he stretches and cracks his neck. "I'll pick up something to cook tonight."

Michael looks around him again, a nearby sign telling him they are at Monterey State Beach. Alex drove them here in two stretches of about three hours, stopping for a quick early lunch in between that they ate by the side of the road. When they first arrived here Alex drove them to a place Michael can only assume is another old base he is checking out. There was nothing standing, not a building or any other sign of its former life.

They'd driven for another few minutes, Alex idling the engine outside a school as he checked something on his phone. Whatever he saw must have been what he wanted to see because Michael watched Alex's face unclench before he turned back on to the road. And now they're here, Michael thinks, wondering if there is another place nearby Alex intends to look at alone. He won't ask, and he certainly won't follow him. But he can't deny being curious.

"Okay, Alex," Michael says easily, following him into the Airstream where Alex picks up his bag and looks around to check for anything else he needs. Though he then stops, toying with the bag strap against his shoulder.

"Sorry. I should have asked. Do you need help? With the floor?"

"Do you have work to do?"

"Well, _yes_, but—"

"Then I don't need help," Michael replies, and because he's feeling either brave or isn't thinking at all, grips Alex by the forearm and gently turns him to face the door. "Go."

"You're sure?" Alex asks, hands up in defense and turning again when Michael shoos him away.

Michael waits for him to leave then opens all of the windows, before pulling out the roll of vinyl from under a couch. He hauls it up on to the couch then takes care to sweep and clean the floor as thoroughly as he can do, spending the next few hours laying the flooring with relative ease. He's pleased with its finish, relieved that the dark color of it doesn't make the Airstream seem smaller. Once the paint is on the walls Michael thinks it might even look more spacious.

He cleans up what he can taking more trash from the Airstream to find a home for. And since Alex is nowhere to be seen Michael first takes a towel from the bathroom then sits on the Airstream steps to roll up his jean legs and strip off his socks and boots. The sand is cool between his toes as he walks, a dampness to it far different than the sand of the desert he's more used to back home.

Michael watches a dog barking for a stick to be tossed, and a jogger running the length of the water, feeling at peace with the world. Which may be due to the beach; he remembers driving down to Corpus Christi one year after a visit from Alex, when the thought of being in Roswell without him had sent him running for a little peace. The same peace he feels here with the sand squished between his toes and the water lapping against his shins. Michael thinks he could watch the water for hours.

He decides to walk, because there is nothing urgent he really needs to be doing, and to give himself some time to think. It's been a whirlwind of a few days, really, since he first left Roswell, with so many things happening and so many miles covered. It's good to be alone with his own thoughts and not have them try to _break_ him as they so often do. Or maybe he's so exhausted from thinking that he's numb to how all of this makes him feel. Either way, Michael's thoughts drift to Alex, since he is where his mind so often goes.

It has to mean something that despite all that's happened between them, they still seem to slot together in an easy fit. There are silent moments, of course, and subjects that make them both irritable—like his unfounded jealousy over Kyle, Michael thinks with a wince, speeding up as though he can outpace his embarrassment. Though their close proximity after everything doesn't feel uncomfortable. It has to mean _something_ that they are built on ten years of reasons to keep them apart and yet are still _here_.

When Michael returns to the Airstream it's to find Alex sitting on the steps, looking out at the sea with a content smile on his face. When he sees Michael his smile is wider. Alex stands to make room for him to go inside.

"The floor looks _great_," Alex says as he passes.

"Yeah. It turned out pretty good. Which is why I don't want to get sand all over it," Michael adds, wiping his feet as best he can with the towel he left by the door earlier, balancing precariously on the Airstream's steps.

"How was the beach?" Alex asks as he watches him. He's showered, Michael thinks, noticing the wetness of his hair.

"Real good. You think… maybe you wanna go down there?" Michael asks, not sure if Alex would be self conscious, or even how his prosthetic might do in the sand.

Alex looks beyond him with a pensive smile. "Not here. It's busier than I'd like. But somewhere else, definitely."

"Maybe we'll find somewhere."

"Maybe," Alex agrees. "Think we can park up here for the night? Near here, anyway."

"We'll find somewhere."

"I bought stuff to make mac and cheese."

"Are you spoiling me?" Michael asks, rubbing his stomach. He _loves_ Alex's mac and cheese, even if he's only made it for him a few times.

"You've done all this," Alex says, gesturing at the Airstream. "Cooking something you'll like is the least I can do."

Before now, with similar kind gestures, Michael's instinct would be to kiss him, or wrap Alex up in his arms whispering his thanks into his neck. His instinct is still the same, really, though he has enough sense about him not to. But the way Alex is looking at him says he would invite such things. Michael badly wants to give him anything he wants, but also knows right now it would feel more like he was taking advantage. Instead, Michael repeats his new mantra to himself, that if they are going to fix things between them, then they are going to do this _right_.

So Michael smiles, because he doesn't really trust himself to talk. He nods in thanks then grabs a change of clothes before heading for the shower, hoping that when he comes back out again he'll feel more composed.

* * *

Michael is in danger of slipping into a food coma. How he's eaten three servings of mac and cheese and hasn't already passed out, he doesn't know. He offers to wash the dishes, though Alex's snort of laughter says he knows that isn't going to happen. Michael lets his head fall back against the edge of the couch, sleepily listening to Alex as he clears up.

"And you tell me I can't cook," Alex says in teasing when he rejoins him, sighing as he sits. Michael watches with a smile as Alex does what he always does when he's too full. Pop the button on his jeans and lift up his shirt to prod at his stomach before spreading out as wide as he can.

"You have signature dishes, is what I think I said."

"You trust me to make sandwiches, and breakfast, and mac and cheese. And heat stuff up. That's _it_."

"Well. I wouldn't be averse to trying any of your experiments," Michael says, even if just thinking of some of Alex's previous cooking attempts could quite easily turn his stomach. He'd been too tired yesterday to worry about dinner too much.

"I've not killed anyone yet," Alex says, laughing. "Well. Not with cooking, anyway."

Michael cracks one eye open to look at him from across the table and smiles, knowing he's both joking and that there is a bitter edge to his words. They've had numerous discussions about missions Alex has been on that he'll never not think about without being filled with guilt. He decides Alex is only teasing in this instance and lets his head fall back again, telling himself he will _not_ fall asleep.

When he feels less like bursting, Michael moves up the length of the couch for them to watch something together. He holds himself a little rigid, since for how sleepy he is it would be very easy to drop his head on Alex's shoulder and forget himself. Alex is unfazed, stretching out even more and yawning himself.

"Why does today feel like such a long day?" Alex asks after a while, covering his mouth as he yawns again.

"You did a lot of driving."

"You've done similar. And you laid a whole floor today. What did I do?"

"Drove. Worked. Cooked. You did stuff too, Alex," Michael says, pushing himself a little more upright since he keeps slipping further down the couch.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's this sea air. Don't they usually say it's supposed to make you sleepy?"

"I've lived in the middle of the desert my whole life. I wouldn't know."

"But it's not the first time you've been to the coast, right?" Alex asks, turning to look at him.

"No. It isn't. But it is the first time in a long while."

"Still. I feel like you have far more reason than I do to be tired."

Michael waves away his words, but is already yawning again.

They make it through another episode of Ancient Aliens before they're both in danger of falling asleep.

"We could be really boring, and go to sleep early," Michael says, thinking if he doesn't move soon, he really might fall asleep on Alex's couch.

"We could."

"Set off early in the morning if you have someplace to be."

"I haven't decided where yet," Alex says, yawning once more then closing the laptop in defeat. "But, yes, I think sleep is probably a good idea."

"'kay."

Michael stretches out in his bed just minutes later, pleased at how comfortable it is. Alex seems comfortable enough too; Michael tilts his head back and watches him shifting around as he settles, grinning for his contented sigh when he stops moving.

In the dark, Michael finds that though tired, he's still not quite ready to fall asleep. He sends messages to Max and Isobel then rolls over on his side, closing his eyes anyway. He doses off with his phone dangling in his hand against the floor. Though it isn't long before he's waking in agony, jumping up from his bed cursing out loud and clutching his leg.

"What is it?" Alex says, jolting upright, Michael seeing his outline in the dark.

"Shit. Sorry, Alex," Michael says, still hopping as he tries to massage his calf. "Got cramp."

The Airstream is bathed in soft light as Alex switches on one of the lights by his bed, and were Michael not in agony he would laugh for the bird's nest that is Alex's hair standing on end. Michael switches another light on nearest to him since they're both already awake, testing his leg and growling when it cramps up again.

"Cramp's the worst," Alex says, yawning as he moves to the end of the bed.

"My fault," Michael says, gritting his teeth for another roll of pain. "Walking on all that sand today. I exercised muscles I didn't know I had."

"Can I… do anything?"

"Chop it off? Sorry."

Alex grins at him sleepily as he stands, far more gracefully making his way across the Airstream than Michael's frantic hopping. "A little drastic."

"You know me."

"Oh, I do. And I'm not massaging it better for you. The last time I tried to do that for you, I almost got kicked in the face."

Michael snorts for the memory, flexing his toes and testing his leg again. It is _still_ protesting at him. "That was _one time_."

"One very memorable time," Alex agrees, laughing softly. "I'll make you something to drink, though?"

"I'd kill for some acetone right about now."

"Is the pain that bad?" Alex asks in surprise, his hands twitching as though he wants to reach for him.

Michael squeezes over his calf, prodding at the muscle in suspicion. It's stopped cramping, but still aches, like a deep bruise. "No. I'm fine."

"So… tea? Juice? Water, or something?"

"We have tea?"

"We do now," Alex says, opening an overhead cupboard door and brandishing a box at him.

Alex makes tea as Michael uses the bathroom, coming back still hobbling on his leg. Alex looks down at his leg and grins for the fuss he's making. Michael has the urge to shove him—mostly playfully—but is just awake enough to not.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Alex," Michael says as he paces back and forth still testing his leg.

"It's fine. I think I was dreaming, anyway."

"Something bad? You said your nightmares were getting better?"

"Not a nightmare," Alex tells him. "Just replaying things, I guess."

"Things like… well. You don't have to tell me," Michael says, sitting when Alex gestures for him to.

"Yesterday. When we spoke about my first night overseas, on my first tour. Sometimes just thinking about it makes me remember things, is all."

"Anything in particular?"

"The usual," Alex says as he makes their tea, handing a cup to Michael, and to his surprise sitting beside him on his bed.

Alex's residual guilt for things that have happened on missions, things he's been responsible for in the name of _serving_, is something Michael thinks will always haunt him. Alex is also proud of the work he's done, so it's complicated for him, something Alex can really only navigate alone. Though Michael would offer him an ear if he wanted to talk, for this and anything else. In the small hours of the morning while half asleep, Michael has the bright idea to share something of himself, in the hopes it might make words easier for Alex to find.

"You know, Alex. We've all _done_ stuff we're not proud of. All of us."

"I know," Alex agrees as he blows on his tea to cool it. "Though thankfully not everyone has done things they aren't proud of that have resulted in a loss of life."

"Well. I don't know about _resulting_ in. But being a part of covering that kind of thing up, I know something about."

"What happened with Rosa was not your fault. Or Isobel's," Alex adds, soft but adamant.

Michael takes a sip of his tea. "I wasn't necessarily talking about Rosa. Though you gotta admit, Alex. Even if I wasn't involved with all that, me covering it up is… I guess it's on a different scale to what you've experienced. But I mean, I get it, or can at least understand what you mean when you say you can't stop thinking about it."

"Well. Rosa was—"

"I'm not talking about _Rosa_, Alex," Michael says, a little more insistently.

Alex pauses from drinking his tea, dawning realization making his eyes wide. "Then, what?"

_Great_, Michael thinks, now he has his attention, already thinking it is a bad idea. Even focusing on the idea that Kyle was the one to tell Alex about so much of what happened with Rosa and Noah does nothing to detract from what he now needs to say.

"I was out in the desert, camping with Isobel and Max, years ago. We were kids," Michael says, sure it sounds like a justification already. The night comes back to haunt him so often that he's learned to find reasons for what they did just so he can sometimes get back to sleep. So he understands perfectly what Alex means when he says about things playing on _his_ mind. "Isobel went outside to pee, or something. I was busy showing off my latest _gift_ from the group home."

"Gift?"

"An exorcism," Michael says, grinning at him. It's a reflexive one that he uses to cover up any memories of the pain, and the shame he'd felt at the time. Alex of course sees right through it, and more than that looks furious for him. Michael waves it away. "We'd just started figuring out what our _things_ were. Our powers."

"Was it… did they start with puberty, or something?"

"I have to think so. We'd do stuff instinctively before then, I guess, but I guess it was around that age we learned to—that we started learning we had some control over them."

"That must have been difficult?"

Michael shrugs, because of course it was, but what's the point of rehashing it all again? "Anyway, me and Max are just talking, goofing off a little, when we hear Isobel start screaming. Like, _really_ screaming. So we go running outside, and I'm fully expecting to see some giant scorpion, or lizard or something."

"What was it?" Alex asks, his cup now abandoned to the floor.

"A guy," Michael says, unconsciously closing his eyes. He can _still_ see him, see the look on his face, how it had twisted in surprise. "Some drifter; I don't know. But his intentions for Isobel were pretty clear. And then we realized he had a knife."

"Seriously?" Alex says, looking, concerned, and angry, and ready to hit something; even if there is nothing he can now do.

"Yeah. And up until then, Max had been struggling with his power, not sure what it was supposed to do, or anything. He figured it out that night."

The air in the Airstream feels as bitter as Michael's thoughts for replaying one of the worst memories of his life. He's been through abusive foster care, losing Alex over and over, but this? The taking of someone's life and his part in covering it up he'll never really get over, no matter how much bravado he shows for it.

Alex's face is calm, composed, and though it should help Michael, it really does the opposite. It's that _soldier_ look he has, the one that says he'd do anything and everything if the situation called for it. Only Alex has been trained to have that instinct. They were _kids_. What was their excuse? "So, Max…?"

"Yeah," Michael says, not wanting to hear or say the word out loud. "He did. And we couldn't just leave the guy there like that. And all the time I'm cursing myself, 'cos I could've just knocked the guy out with a rock or something, save all this from happening in the first place."

"It wasn't your fault, Michael."

Michael closes his eyes, exasperated with himself. He'd meant to share this story to help _Alex_ share. Not relive something he won't ever be able to forget.

"But it was my idea to bury him, Alex," he says, wishing he could do anything to take back that evening for all of them. "It was me who dug his grave. I'm complicit; don't matter how many ways I spin it."

"You were defending your _sister_."

"_Max_ was defending her," Michael corrects, "I was just the one who… I covered it up."

"You were protecting someone you love," Alex insists, ducking his head in the way he does to force eye contact. "You were, Michael. However else you see it, however you've been punishing yourself for this ever since, you were _protecting_ her. Kyle told me about Rosa, and Noah, and Isobel, and how you—how you basically did the same for her. Covering up for—you did even more, Michael. You let her think _you_ killed Rosa and those other girls."

"It wasn't _her_ who did it either," Michael retorts, defensive, and there it is, he thinks, a tendril of jealousy for Kyle. He latches on to it almost in comfort, for a way to divert his thoughts.

"I know," Alex agrees, "I just meant that you were—whatever you did? Whatever happened? You were doing it out of love. _For_ people you love."

"Yeah."

"And I know it feels… it feels like a part of _you_ dies every time you're in a situation where you need to do things like that," Alex says. Who would know better than him? Wasn't that what this whole conversation was supposed to be about? But it hurts, even after all these years, and to have Alex's vindication of events begins to ease some of the knots that have formed in Michael's shoulders, even if he is still cursing at himself.

"It really does," he says, finishing his tea and putting his cup down beside Alex's.

"And it doesn't matter how much justification you have, or tell yourself, that feeling of losing a part of yourself, it never goes away. You just… it just aches less, I guess, over time."

Alex is too close. His knee is resting against his thigh, and he's turned partly towards him; did he move closer, or was he already sat like that? Michael doesn't know what to do. He knows what he _wants_ to do, but won't let himself. So he picks up Alex's tea and pushes it into his hand, giving him an easy smile that he's sure Alex will see right through.

"You going easy on me because I'm refurbing your Airstream, Alex?"

"I'm _going easy on you_, because I've _been_ there."

"Yeah. For _work_."

"Doesn't make it any easier to justify or accept," Alex says, drinking his tea. "You did what you did to help people with a face, and name. Me? I did it for a _cause_. A part of me did it to please my _father_. There are nights when I just lie there trying to work out how many other ways I could have done so many things, but those kind of things? There is never another way, never a way you can make up for them. You can't take them _back_."

Alex gets it. Alex gets _him_. Not just for this, but for so many things. In this mood, with soft lights, both of them sleepy in the early hours of the morning, such thinking is _dangerous_. Michael closes his eyes and lets his head fall forward, refusing to let himself be tempted by Alex's kind words and understanding smile. "Yeah."

"And this is _our_ Airstream, by the way," Alex adds, changing the subject as he stands, taking Michael's cup when he's finished. "Whatever happens, it's ours. You put all this work in. If it gets sold, we're splitting it. It's not up for debate."

Michael can't help smiling for that stern look on his face. His heart is in turmoil, and his very soul hurts from his confessions, but a simple look from Alex has always soothed everything a little for him. It _always_ has. Which was not the _point_ of this conversation. "How do you do that?"

Alex is rinsing their cups, his back to him at the sink, leaning against it and comfortably balanced on one leg. "Do what?"

"Turn everything around from us talking about _you_, to talking about _me_?"

"Is that what I did?" Alex says. Michael can hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah, Alex, you did." It would be so easy to reach out, to playfully grip him by the waist and pull Alex into his lap. Everything would be so easy to give in to, and Michael is struggling right now to remember why they can't. So he forces himself to stand, rearrange his comforter, and climb back into bed. As though that will do anything to relieve him of the temptation.

Alex dries his hands, moving quietly away from him to use the bathroom. When he comes back through he smiles as he passes though doesn't linger, going straight back to his own bed and turning off the light.

"Thanks, Michael."

Michael snorts. "For what?"

"I know you were just trying to get me to talk. I appreciate that. And that you would share something like that with me. Thank you; you know I won't repeat it."

"I know," Michael says as he turns off his own light, staring up at the ceiling as his eyes readjust to the dark. "But I wanted to—you can talk to me. About anything you want to, okay?"

"Thank you," Alex says again, a little softer, and a little regretful, Michael thinks.

He listens to Alex falling asleep then tries to do the same himself for the second time that night.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScwZiQ0xb5j0Hc9Wb4vVxgRc7dbcyoHSrT8UKgNj-e_77nKPA/viewform)!


	11. Chapter 11

"I got you something."

The paper bag crinkles as it drops into Michael's lap where he's sat cross-legged on the Airstream floor, with Alex spinning away again before he can see his face.

"What's this?" Michael asks, already opening the bag and smiling for the _State of Oregon 1959_ fridge magnet in his hand. He brushes his finger over the cold of the magnet and the curve of its edges, standing so he can add the magnet to their growing collection.

Gary and Poppy had left one of Phoenix on the fridge when they'd sold him the Airstream. Michael picked up one at Monterey Beach liking the little shell in the swell of glass it was displayed in beneath the name. He'd not really intended to pick up the others, but on their fridge now sits magnets from Sacramento, Nevada, Utah, Idaho, and now courtesy of Alex one from here in Oregon. Michael's favorite is the one from Nevada in the shape of the state with a little alien riding a UFO in the bottom corner. He's never really collected _anything_ before. But as he adds Alex's new addition, Michael thinks having a thing to collect just for the hell of it might be something he _likes_.

"Everything looks great, Michael," Alex says then in that soft, awe-filled voice Michael has become used to hearing almost every time he does something for the Airstream. He doesn't need the praise, but he'll take the sweet look on Alex's face any day. He even winks in reply before crawling back to where he was working.

"We're nearly done."

"So. I've been meaning to ask you, and it keeps just… slipping my mind. But why did you never do anything like this for your place?" Alex asks, sitting on Michael's bed to watch as he tightens the last of the screws on the cupboard beneath the sink making it the very last repair he should have to do.

"I guess I thought I'd get to it? I don't know," Michael says, shrugging as he sits back on his haunches, drumming the screwdriver against his thigh. "It wasn't high on my priority list."

"You've made this place look amazing," Alex says, gesturing around them. Michael quietly agrees that the Airstream is looking pretty good; he's proud of his efforts.

"We lucked out."

"No. You worked _hard_," Alex corrects, smiling when Michael looks. "I just meant, that _you_ deserved this kind of effort for your Airstream, long before this."

Michael's never really thought about it. He doesn't need much in his life; somewhere to sleep that has a roof, and a space to store his few possessions. He watches TV when he's in a bar or in someone's home, and borrows books from the library. His life _is_ small. Making his own Airstream feel more like a home hasn't crossed his mind since about five minutes after he got it, for just being so grateful for somewhere warmer to sleep that first night.

He's done a few cosmetic repairs, of course, replaced a section of paneling that was rusting, and patched up parts of the floor. Though there are wires loose from the walls that he never got around to securing, and the entire place really could do with an overhaul.

But this Airstream with Alex, this one deserves all the love he can give it, all the effort and time that he can pour in. So that's what he's doing. Task by task, day by day, giving Alex the best comfort he can while traveling, and himself the best home he's ever had.

"So. I was thinking. We set off from Phoenix in the Airstream just over two weeks ago."

Michael does the math, estimating around another week or so before that since he left Roswell, and is surprised; in some ways, it feels more like they've been on the road for months. "Yeah. It's been pretty full on."

"It has," Alex agrees, "which is why I was thinking. Maybe we could take the day off. The rest of it, anyway."

Michael stops putting their now-impressively full toolbox back together to look at him in surprise. "Well. Every day's pretty much like that for me. A day off, I mean."

"How?" Alec asks, laughing. "Michael, you never _stop_."

"You're the one tied to that laptop every day."

"And you're the one fixing up this Airstream, doing our laundry, doing most of our cooking and shopping. And other stuff besides."

"It's not all that much," Michael protests for feeling like he's being put on a pedestal. He's not done all that much at all.

"You fixed that school bus in Sacramento, by the side of the road."

Michael thinks of all the kids watching him expectantly and can't help smiling for the memory. "It was a one off."

"No, it wasn't," Alex says, grinning back at him. "That motel we stayed in so the paint could dry here overnight. You fixed the shower. In our room _and_ next door's."

They'd got an extra night's stay out of it for free when they'd stopped just outside of Utah in Castle Dale, which had worked out well. The paint fumes were still too strong when Michael had checked the Airstream the following morning, and another day in the motel without them moving anywhere gave Alex the chance to get a little ahead on work. Michael had insisted on cooking in the Airstream though, for taking one look at the motel kitchen and all but running away.

"And, every time we've stopped at an RV park you've fixed _something_. You really weren't joking about working on the road, were you?"

"Still. It's not all that much I've been doing," Michael says, adamant that he's not really doing enough. Though he is finding that he can pick up work as they travel far easier than he imagined. He's good for money right now, but being able to earn some on the move is no bad thing.

"Michael. When was the last time you took a vacation?"

Michael shrugs because he has no answer to that.

"Anyway. I am up to date on work, everything here looks amazing. So why don't we just take the rest of the day?" Alex asks.

"To do what?"

Alex takes the tablet that Michael has been mostly using as his, quickly typing something in the search engine. He turns it for Michael to look; Michael reads _Bullwinkles Entertainment_ and looks to Alex for an explanation.

"There's bowling. Go-karts. Miniature golf. Some other stuff too, like lasers and sky trails. But I was thinking maybe more of the indoor stuff. It looks like they have a great arcade."

"You mean you don't want to do the _Soaring Eagle Zipline_?" Michael teases as Alex scrolls through the screen.

Alex laughs, and it's a beautiful thing for Michael to hear. Though not when accompanied by his next words. "Believe me. Jumping out of a plane over enemy territory, when your parachute doesn't engage until you think you're close enough to make a crater in the ground, is all the… _exhilaration_ I need."

Michael's mind goes blank for the horror of imagining Alex tumbling through the sky at speed. Alex calls his name twice before he really hears it.

"Sorry," Michael says, clearing his throat, "I just… I mean, I've imagined you doing all kinds of things in your _war_. But I just… at the same time, I never really picture _anything_. Parachuting?"

"A few times," Alex agrees, watching him curiously.

Michael has to pinch over his eyes to compose himself, shuddering for the images he's now given himself. "Yeah. Well. No thanks to the zipline for me either. And if you decide you're gonna do it, warn me. I need to be elsewhere for that. Or running beneath you holding a mattress, or something."

Alex's face breaks into a smile. "No zipline for either of us. Besides, it looks miserable out there. A day inside bowling and in the arcade could be good though, right?"

It could be _great_, Michael thinks. He's just treated the last of the Airstream's wood surfaces having already sanded everything down. The painting is finished too, aside from the bathroom. Michael is still toying with the idea of replacing the whole suite. Beyond that, aside from a final few touches, the Airstream is as close to perfect as it's going to get. Maybe Alex is right and they do need a little time off.

"Well. Sure, Alex, if it's not going to interfere with your work."

"No. I think it'll be good for us. Maybe we can eat lunch now, set off, have dinner there? It'll take about two, two and a half hours to get there, but it's open until ten. I'll drive," Alex adds, waving the truck's keys since he's been out this morning looking at whatever military base he's checking is secure. Michael could have gone with him since the RV site they're on is apparently fairly close, but he wanted to get this final bit of work done. And besides, in these two weeks they've been travelling, what Michael has seen of Alex's _military bases_ isn't much. He knows there must be more than Alex is telling him but the urge to ask for more has passed. Alex will tell him what he can whenever he's ready. Michael is learning to accept that.

"Okay. Then, I'll make lunch."

"I'll make it," Alex says, waving Michael back when he stands. "You finish what you're doing, maybe take a shower. I'll have something ready."

Michael raises his arm and pretends to sniff his armpit. "You saying I stink?"

Alex turns away, but Michael still catches a smile before he does. "Take a _shower_, Guerin."

_Guerin_, Michael thinks as he saunters away, smiling because he now likes the way that sounds on Alex's tongue.

* * *

Somehow, Michael has forgotten how competitive Alex can get. His cursing and yelling as they work their way around the arcade are, Michael thinks, the highlight of his entire _year_. The delight in Alex's eyes, the carefree slope of his shoulders, and the joyfulness in his laugh; somehow, Michael has forgotten all of this. He hasn't seen Alex this free in a long while.

Though with that joyfulness comes difficulty for Michael as much as he wants to see even more of it. He's struck even more than usual by how in love he is with Alex, and them being so close but not close enough for all these weeks is already a bittersweet torture. The natural response to kiss or hug him when he wins has sent Michael to the bathroom far more times than necessary since arriving in the arcade, for always having a soda in his hands to keep them busy and having far too much of it to drink.

Alex jokes with him about games shooting aliens saying that he won't out of respect for him. Michael shows no such restraint when there are games involving soldiers, earning him a look of mock hurt, and several _that's not even how you hold a gun_. They are playful, and flirtatious, with soft touches when passing one another or pointing out where next to go. It's so _good_, but Michael knows he can't let himself get carried away with it all. He drains yet another soda, then waves so Alex knows he's taking off again.

"Pizza?" Alex asks when Michael returns from his latest bathroom visit. Michael checks the clock nearest to them realizing they've probably spent four hours going around the arcade. His stomach growls as though to announce it's long past time for dinner.

"Sounds good," Michael tells him, watching as Alex changes a handful of quarters back to better coinage.

"You think you're up for bowling after?"

Michael doesn't mean to glance down at Alex's leg. "Are you?"

"Well," Alex says, nodding when Michael leans back to look around the corner of the arcade they're in for the food hall. "Me losing my leg probably makes us more evenly matched now."

Michael can't _not_ smile at that. "Oh, it's like that, is it?"

"It is," Alex agrees, with more of those infectious smiles that Michael might just fall asleep tonight thinking about.

"Then, you're on."

The pizza is typical of the few times Michael has been to bowling alleys with Max and Isobel when they were kids. Though they are hungry enough to eat without complaint, sitting afterward pleasantly full and with no intention to move.

"We haven't done anything like this for a while," Michael says as he stretches out on his side of the booth.

"No," Alex agrees, his smile becoming wistful.

"Not since… I don't think we even went out anywhere the previous time you came back before."

Michael tries not to think too much on that last time because it had been shorter than their already-snatched times together, though then of course can't stop thinking. They'd both been on edge, both frantic for one another for how long it had been. Both angry that they couldn't have _more_. They hadn't parted on an argument like so many of their encounters usually did, but Michael's heart felt like it was breaking for the entire time he had Alex back. He _still_ feels that ache now.

"We never really went anywhere in Roswell," Alex says, "not around where we know, anyway."

"No."

"Which is my fault," Alex adds, which completely throws Michael off. He must look startled for the way Alex's face twists up in a contrite smile.

"Well. It's all done now. I mean, it's not like we can go back and change anything."

"But I would. I'd do so many things differently."

Michael is more used to Alex springing these conversations on him now. There have been a couple he's not responded all that well to, and one occasion when he got so mad that he'd gone to bed early, just to stop himself from storming out. But he's ready now, runs with it, almost.

"Well. Me too, Alex. In a lot of ways. But then, if we went back, I don't know. You think we'd have worked things out any different?"

"I like to think so. I wish we—in some ways, I wish _I_ would have, when I first left, had something more… I wish you and me were _something_. Something a little more defined than we've ever been. So we both knew where we stood."

Michael has often wished they'd had a better long-distance relationship than the messy make up and break up dance they've gone through instead. "That would've been good."

"I think I'd have served anyway, regardless of if my dad hadn't been what he is. I think I'd have felt a different sense of obligation, because my brothers did. But I would have done so much of _us_ differently. I wouldn't have… I wouldn't have hid."

Michael's heart is in his throat. "You wouldn't?"

"It's probably my single biggest regret when it comes to you. My _only_ regret," Alex adds, staring at Michael so intensely, he fidgets for it.

"Well. I would've preferred _not_ to hide."

"Exactly," Alex says, his expression so soft, and remorseful. "I shouldn't have insisted we did. I've never been ashamed of you, but I… I know it must have felt like that. And I'm so, so sorry for that. Michael, you deserve someone who shows how proud they are to be with you, not someone who gets scared of being caught."

"You had your reasons," Michael says, recalling Alex's words of wanting to win battles after what had happened with _his_ hand.

"I did. But I still wish I hadn't been scared. I wish I hadn't been scared of anything."

Maybe Alex is intent on wrenching all of his heart out in one go. "Well, _yeah_, Alex. That would've been… it would've been different."

"So much of all this, it wouldn't have even been necessary. Everyone would have known that you and me were… people would have known."

_Maria_, Michael thinks, but doesn't say out loud. He hasn't heard from her, and he hasn't felt the need to contact her. But it's her friendship with Alex that he's now concerned about. Though since Alex shuts down any mention of her, Michael knows not to push the subject, hoping one day the two of them will work things out.

"Yeah. That would've been… easier," Michael says.

"Anyway," Alex says as he gives him this tight smile that speaks of a change of subject. "If things had been different, I would have wanted more nights like this one with you. Lots of them."

Michael wants to say that, going forward, they _can_ have that. Date nights and time together in public when neither of them is even aware of who is around. _They_ are not there yet; Michael knows there are many more words ahead of them yet before they get to that. But tonight feels good, _special_ in a way. He doesn't want to ruin things by thinking too hard. So he slips out of the booth and extends his hand for Alex to grab so he can pull him out.

"I believe you were gonna kick my ass at bowling," Michael says with a wink, the tension that had been creeping into him fading away again for Alex's smile.

"I did."

"Then, we should get to it, don't you think? Place closes at ten, and hell knows you're gonna keep asking for a rematch when you _lose_."

"Really."

"Yes, Alex. _Really_."

If they hold hands for a few more seconds before letting go, still smiling at each other idiotically, neither one of them comment on it.

* * *

They are in Downtown Portland this morning, having driven straight up after leaving the arcade and sleeping early for being so tired. Mornings in the Airstream with Alex still start a little quieter than Michael would like sometimes; it's as though he's getting used to him over and over again. But the ease with which they move around one another hasn't changed, this natural routine of preparing breakfast and getting ready to start their days. The silence Michael is learning to handle because they still have that closeness, no matter how quiet they are. And besides, before a cup of coffee Michael isn't much of a talker himself.

"I have a few things I need to get done," Alex says after he's washed their dishes from breakfast, gathering what he needs for his bag.

"Okay. Me too."

"My turn to cook tonight?" Alex adds with a hint of a smile that Michael grins at unconsciously.

"Sure."

"You trust me?"

"When did I say I didn't?"

"When you were hopping around here a few nights ago yelling about getting all the windows open to let in some air?"

Michael ducks his head, laughing. "Yeah, well. You _did_ leave that pan spitting oil unattended."

"I was only at the fridge," Alex protests.

"Yeah. And you got distracted by _salami_."

Alex opens his mouth and closes it, his eyes crinkling up in mirth. "You know. There is a joke there—several, in fact—that… I am _not_ going to make," he says as he swings his bag up over his shoulder.

"Okay. You're definitely leaving," Michael replies, snorting with laughter as he points to the door.

"Fine. _You_ cook."

"I _will_."

Alex grins at him over his shoulder calling a soft goodbye as he leaves. Okay, Michael thinks as he changes his shirt and collects his toolbox, he'll take quiet mornings any morning, if they work out like _this_. Alex joking and teasing have always been some of Michael's favorite things about him.

The RV park they're staying in has three vehicles in need of a little help. Michael has all three back on the road and cash in his back pocket a little after two hours after Alex set off. He checks the map, and since Alex has walked wherever he's gone, Michael debates taking the truck to top up on food. He checks through the cupboards, decides tonight will be a good night for something like a casserole since it's so cold out. After making his list Michael texts Alex to see if there is anything he wants, then sets off for the nearest supermarket.

He doesn't think much about Alex not answering him, since when Alex is engrossed in work he rarely looks up from his screen. Though when he isn't back for lunch Michael considers finding out where he is to join him. Though Michael talks himself out of it, still trying not to intrude on Alex's space, despite their close proximity in the Airstream.

Michael has just cleaned up from his own lunch when he hears his phone buzz on the table, quickly drying his hands on a dishtowel and running across to snatch it up.

_Could you pick me up?_ Michael reads, an irrational fear jolting his stomach. Michael checks the directions in the rest of Alex's text and rushes our of the Airstream, quickly locking up as he goes. It takes less than five minutes to get to the cafe Alex is working in, and when Michael sees him through the window he is relieved for Alex looking okay. Though when he enters the cafe and gets closer, Michael sees a sheen of sweat on Alex's forehead and a grimace as though he is tensing up.

"What happened?" Michael asks, glancing over him for signs of injury.

"Nothing, really."

"What's _nothing, really_?"

"He slipped."

Michael turns for the unimpressed voice of a barista who is looking at Alex in mild exasperation and walking towards them. She is young, though the look on her face makes Michael think of Mrs. Evans.

"On what?" Michael asks, noting the name _Josephine_ pinned to the barista's shirt.

"The rain. Floor can be like an ice rink when it's raining outside."

"I didn't see the wet floor sign," Alex adds, waving in a gesture that clearly says _hey, I'm here, stop talking about me_.

"Does it hurt?" Michael asks, softer, sure it must do for the way Alex is holding himself.

"It's fine."

"So _fine_, he's not moved from that chair since he got here," Josephine points out with a shrewd look that Michael would smile at were the situation anything else. "I don't like to think about what your bladder must be doing right about now."

Alex scowls, as though that is just one of many things he is trying not to think about. So Michael smiles his most winning smile and gestures for Josephine to leave them alone.

"You don't have your stick," Michael says even softer, so no one can overhear.

Alex closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. "No."

"Okay. Then lean on me just until we get outside. Truck's right across the street," Michael adds, gesturing, worrying more since Alex doesn't even turn to look.

"Okay."

Alex's hands are trembling as he packs his bag. Michael itches to help but doesn't, not wanting to overstep his mark. But when Alex looks at the floor, then table, then around him as though he doesn't know how he's going to get up, there is nothing that could stop Michael from helping.

"I think he must have twisted his knee, or ankle, or something," Josephine helpfully calls out from behind the counter.

Michael scowls but at least it's given them an excuse for why he needs to haul Alex up. "Okay," he says, swinging Alex's bag over his head and settling the strap across his chest. "I'm gonna move the table a little, then you get your arm around my neck, and just… _lean_. Okay?"

"Okay."

That Alex doesn't even protest makes Michael want to drive him to the nearest urgent care. Though Michael's attention is then stolen for the way Alex grimaces as he tries to move. Michael ducks down and gets Alex's arm around his shoulder, steadying Alex with a hand on his stomach when he gets him upright.

"All good?"

Alex gives a tight, pain-filled nod. Michael takes as much of his weight as he'll let him with his arm firmly around his waist, maneuvering them to the cafe door. Alex offers no protest as Michael all but carries him across the street and gets him into the passenger side of the truck. Alex is still wincing against the pain he's in when Michael climbs in.

"Okay. Here's the deal. Since I know you're going to protest, I'm taking you back to the Airstream first. We're gonna check your leg, put my new first aid kit to good use if we need to. If it's not that bad, you're gonna take pain relief and rest. And if it _is_, we're finding someone to check it out. Deal?"

That Alex only nods in agreement fills Michael with fresh panic. Alex even offers no objection to Michael carrying him into the Airstream a few minutes later. Michael's heart is in his throat for it.

"Okay," he says, swinging Alex's bag back over his shoulder and dropping it on the table. "Do you want to lean on me so we can get your jeans off? We need to check your leg, Alex."

Alex's hands shake as he unbuckles his belt. Michael holds him by the arm to keep him upright not wanting to do the easiest thing, which is undress him himself. Alex drops back on to the couch to sit with a soft hiss the moment his jeans are down far enough, letting Michael drop to his knees to tug them the rest of the way. He makes quick work of removing his socks and shoes as well, wincing himself for the redness of Alex's stump as he carefully removes the prosthetic.

"So, what happened?"

"I walked in, my body went one way, my leg the other. I hit the floor."

"Did you hit anything else?" Michael asks, carefully taking Alex's leg between his hands to inspect. The stump is red, and there is a slight swelling to it as well as a small graze where the prosthetic socket has dug into his leg. Michael is convinced the swelling is the result of Alex being stubborn and not calling for help earlier, but he keeps his comments to himself about that.

"I hit my hip. My shoulder," Alex says, sighing, watching as Michael continues to inspect his leg.

"So what you really need is a good soak in a tub."

"No. I just think I need to rest a little."

"We can stop somewhere if—"

"No," Alex says, pulling himself a little more upright. "I want to stay here."

"Then we'll stay here," Michael agrees, gently squeezing over his knee. Now that he knows Alex's leg isn't too bad he can relax. "I'm wiping over that graze, getting you something for the pain, and you're resting. Okay?"

"Okay," Alex agrees, groaning as he hauls himself backward to prop himself up at the end of the couch, swinging his legs up and carefully dropping them down along the length of it. Though then he's on the move again, struggling to get up.

"Wait. Where are you going now?" Michael says, quickly slamming the fridge door closed as Alex reaches him, holding a hand out.

Alex squeezes his hand in passing. "Just the bathroom."

"I'm making you lunch," Michael calls after him pretending he isn't checking to see if he's okay. He has one ear trained on the bathroom door in case Alex needs him as he makes him a quick sandwich, already sliding a plate on to the table when Alex comes back out.

Michael makes a pot of coffee and takes Alex a bottle of water and some Advil as Alex settles himself, griping under his breath the entire time. Michael nods for Alex to start eating and then takes another look at his leg. He squeezes over his knee in sympathy when the sting of the alcohol wipe over Alex's graze has him jolting. After checking Alex's stump again Michael quickly washes up then returns to the table.

Alex is subdued throughout lunch, concentrating on eating his sandwich and barely saying a word. Michael worries that he might be hurting more than he's telling him and has every intention of asking him when he's done putting their things from lunch away. Alex beats him to it. When Michael comes back to him it's to find Alex pulling down the side of his boxers and prodding forlornly at his hip.

"I am _not_ kissing it better," Michael declares, sliding in beside him. He can't see anything much on his hip but evidence that there is going to be one hell of a bruise. Alex gives him a half-smile in response, sitting back up with a sigh.

"I think it's going to ache later. A lot."

"And your shoulder?"

Alex shifts a little to face him better, wincing when he catches his leg. Michael's fingers flare instinctively but Alex shakes his head, working off his shirt, and then his t-shirt. His shoulder looks a little red too but he has mobility, so Michael is reassured. Even if Alex redresses then slumps back looking defeated.

"I should have taken my prosthetic off."

Michael nods, though he understands why he didn't. "You could've called me. I would've come got you right away."

"I know," Alex agrees, slumping back. "But my independence is important to me. With my leg."

"I get that. I do. But that doesn't mean you should just sit there in agony."

"It's not that bad," Alex protests, but for Michael's raised eyebrow, relents. "Okay. So it _is_ painful. I just didn't want to make a fuss or anything there in the cafe."

"Can I ask… why did you leave your stick behind? In Roswell?"

It's been bugging Michael that Alex doesn't have it with him just in case, for fearing moments like _this_ one. He understands Alex wanting to hide his injury, but at the expense of his comfort? Michael doesn't approve of that.

"I didn't think I'd need it," Alex replies, slumping again. "Or rather, I decided I wouldn't need it. I don't _want_ to need it."

Alex is so brave with his leg, so _normal_, that Michael has often convinced himself he is unfazed by it at all. Though now he sees the cafe situation through Alex's eyes, how vulnerable he must have felt. The urge to _protect_ Alex surges harder than ever for him, even if there is nothing he can now do.

"Well. Rest up. Unless you need to work?"

"I got everything done there," Alex says, dejectedly pushing away his laptop bag, which is a first.

"So? What do you want to do, Alex? We can watch something, or read, or—"

"I'm really tired."

Michael stands immediately. "You want me to make your bed? Or are you gonna sleep on the couch?"

"The bed, I think."

Michael holds his hands out to haul Alex up, helping him over to _his_ couch to sit as he gets the bed ready. There isn't any work he needs doing on the Airstream today, so maybe he'll read a little while Alex sleeps. Though Alex has other plans for him, apparently, nervously grasping Michael's hand when he goes to step back.

"Do you think… maybe you could… sleep with me for a while? Just a little. I'm… really cold."

"It's probably shock," Michael says, feeling enough shock himself for Alex's request. Though he has no objection, already nodding for him to lie down as he takes off his boots and sweater, carefully kneeling on to the bed beside him. "Where do you need me?"

Alex is awkward as he lies on his side, wincing and hissing as he tries to get comfortable. He looks over his shoulder when he stops moving, and Michael knows to tuck in behind him. They haven't been this close in _months_, but slot together perfectly as always. Michael resists the urge to kiss his neck or shoulder like he might have done in the past, carefully resting his hand on Alex's thigh.

"This okay?" Michael asks as Alex tucks the comforter better around them, pressing back against Michael so he knows to keep close.

"Perfect," Alex agrees with a soft, grateful sigh.

Michael closes his eyes savoring Alex's closeness, waiting until he falls asleep being doing the same.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your next [survey](https://forms.gle/cAm7bwxscmph4Geq7)!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The next chapter is being split again on account of wordiness... when these two get talking... sigh. Anyway! First half today without a survey, second half on Wednesday with. Happy reading!

Michael wakes to Alex beginning to move, his instincts telling him to both cuddle closer and pull back. Though as they've slept Michael's hand has gravitated up to Alex's stomach where he's laced his fingers through to keep him in place. Michael could spend hours like this but doesn't trust himself to, carefully extricating his fingers so as not to knock Alex's hip.

"How are you feeling?"

Alex sighs, presses his face into his pillow, then carefully rolls on to his back. He looks down at himself, slowly rolling his shoulder to test it, then prodding at his hip and sighing again. "Everything hurts. But I think if I get a good sleep tonight, I'll feel... still achy, but better?"

"We should check your leg."

"How did you fall asleep in jeans?" Alex asks, half-heartedly raising his head, then dropping it back as though moving is too much effort.

"Habit?"

"Michael. You prefer sleeping naked. How is you falling asleep in jeans a habit?"

Michael hadn't wanted to strip down to t-shirt and boxers as Alex has for fear of too much temptation. So he shrugs and sits up, pulling back the comforter and squeezing Alex's arm in apology when he shivers.

Alex's stump is still a little swollen on one side, though thankfully instead of the redness from earlier it has now faded to pink. Michael thinks it's progress, but also doesn't think Alex should be moving anywhere soon. Though how is he going to convince him to listen?

"I don't think you should go anywhere for at least a day," Michael says, watching as Alex pulls down the side of his boxers again to look at his hip. He can see the beginning of bruising there and is sure it will be blue and purple by the morning.

Alex hauls himself up to sit and looks at his stump with him, sighing in defeat. "You're probably right."

"Just work from here, or something. We'll drive if you want, but it might be better if we just… stay here for now."

"We can do that."

"Yeah?" Michael had been expecting far more of a fight.

"I really don't think I have the energy to go anywhere," Alex says, flopping back on his back, and folding his hands across his stomach.

Michael stands, tucking the comforter back around him as he does. "Well, good. We'll stay here tomorrow, set off early the next day, if you want. Depending on how your leg is."

"Yeah."

Michael uses the bathroom then checks the time, looking over the contents of their fridge and cupboards, really not feeling in the mood for cooking.

"So, I was going to make some kind of casserole, but… it's a little late to start it now."

"Will it ruin?"

"No," Michael says, "I didn't even start it. I'll do it for tomorrow."

"So. What should we eat? We could… do you feel like takeout?"

"We could order something. I can go pick it up?"

"Yeah?"

"'Course."

"Then, yes. Let's do that," Alex says as he sits up, moving as though about to reach for his wallet. Michael bats his hand away so he can't.

"I'll get it."

"Michael—"

"It's fine. Honestly. What do you feel like?"

Alec leans back in his hands, looking up at him with his head tilted a little. "If you're buying, don't you think you should pick?"

"You make a good point," Michael replies in tease. "So I'm feeling like… Thai food?"

"Dumplings. Yes," Alex says, already licking his lips as he moves again. "And spring rolls, and… chicken satay?"

"You just want a bunch of sides, like always?" Michael asks, laughing. Alex will eat anything, and everything, but for some reason when he's feeling a little off, Michael has always known Alex to work his way through nothing but side dishes.

"You like the same," Alex points out, smiling back, and leaning forward enough to reach Michael's sweater, tossing it to him.

"True. Okay, so… all of those, and maybe some… noodle thing? Sriracha? Tomyum?"

"Anything."

"Well, okay then," Michael says, sitting back down to put his boots on. He turns for the hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you," Alex says softly, squeezing his shoulder.

"Didn't do anything."

"You did everything," Alex argues, his gratitude seeming to put tears in his eyes.

Michael doesn't always function well at all when put on the spot with things like this, especially when he's not long woken up. So before he can debate it with himself he turns enough just to get a kiss to the back of Alex's hand where it's still resting on him. He stands quickly, winking to cover up his panic for doing the wrong thing, mumbling a goodbye when he's found his wallet and all but runs out.

* * *

"I can't eat another thing."

Michael laughs as Alex flops on his back, lifting up his t-shirt and prodding at his stomach. He needs to move, quickly, to clean up, if he doesn't want to be in danger of doing the same thing. The lying down part, anyway.

"I'm impressed. That was a good effort even for you," Michael says, groaning as he makes himself stand.

"Sit. Leave it. We'll do it later," Alex says, waving his hand over the table.

"It'll take minutes. All these cartons I can take straight outside, then it's less to clean up, right?"

Alex makes a noncommital sound that might be agreement. Michael makes quick work of clearing the table feeling Alex's eyes on him as he does.

It's cold outside when he jogs across the RV park parking lot, huffing in protest at how heavy he feels for having just eaten. He was debating opening a window in the Airstream to take away the smell of their dinner, but Alex will be huddling beneath every blanket he has if he does.

"I can do the dishes," Alex calls when he gets back in, clearly making no effort to move. There are barely any to do so Michael stacks them in the sink and rejoins him on the couch.

"In the morning."

"You want to watch something?"

"Honestly? I just think I need to lie still for a while."

"That was a lot of food," Alex agrees, smiling when Michael turns his head. They both lie back on their sides of the couch and close their eyes.

"You remember that time we ordered Chinese food, and they messed up our order so we had double of everything?"

"Well. Won tons, shrimp toast, and egg rolls, sure. But yeah, I remember," Michael replies, thinking of a motel room with mustard colored curtains and carpets where they shared one of their best moments together when Alex returned home.

"They were good egg rolls."

"Yeah," Michael says, scoffing in accusation, "I think I had two? Out of _eight_."

"They were good egg rolls," Alex repeats, and when Michael looks he is smiling to himself. Michael roles back, steeping his fingers across his chest looking up at the Airstream ceiling. 

"You remember that cake you got me?" Michael says after another moment of silence, smiling for the memory of a belated birthday cake Alex had shown up with on another visit, the cake slightly squished in its box as he juggled with his bag.

"It tasted good, even if it was a mess," Alex replies, and this time he turns his head to look at Michael. Michael catches his breath on his smile.

"It tasted great."

"Even if that room we were in had like, no cutlery, nothing to cut it with."

"We managed."

Alex's eyes darken, obviously sharing the memory that Michael is now shifting for. It was great cake, tasting even better on Alex…

"Yeah. We did," Alex agrees, and since his guard is down because he is too full of food he looks Michael over in a way that just invites him to close the gap between them. Michael doesn't, but the temptation is almost too much. So he closes his eyes and rolls his head back again, clearing his mind for something more neutral to say.

"That weekend when it did nothing but rain," he says, which won't make things any easier. He cracks one eye open as Alex arches and sighs, still smiling.

"It was a good weekend."

"It was."

"You made that chicken thing, in the crockpot," Alex adds, which is good; if his mind is returning to food. It's less distracting than thinking about what they spent that weekend doing when they weren't eating.

"I don't think I've seen a crockpot in any other motel room."

"We could get one for here, if you wanted?" Alex asks, lifting his head a little then dropping it back again. His fingers are still trailing over his stomach, and it's taking all of Michael's restraint not to watch. 

"Maybe? We can look for one. It's not urgent, though."

"No. I guess not."

Silence falls on them again. Michael is content to lie here with Alex even if he isn't thinking of much to say. It's good, he thinks, that they can be like this together, feeling no need to feel the silence just because.

"I need the bathroom," Alex says then, his tone mournful as he hauls himself upright. He sits only long enough to prod at his leg then is making his way along the Airstream propping himself up on the kitchen sides.

When Alex returns he makes a detour to the fridge, taking them both bottles of beer. He uncaps them at the table, reaching beneath the couch for his laptop.

"I feel like watching a cooking show now," Alex says as Michael sits upright, moving so they'll both be able to see the screen.

"Seriously?"

"Something with cake," Alex adds, and how is Michael's brain not supposed to freeze when he winks at him? He settles better, noting how close Alex shuffles so that their shoulders are pressed together.

Michael has no idea what they are watching, even if the cakes look amazing, and half of them are less food and more works of art. Mostly what Michael is aware of is the warmth of Alex beside him, seeming to jostle ever closer when either one of them reaches for their beer.

Three episodes in and Michael has moved enough to let Alex rest his head on his shoulder, since them bumping together has left Alex wincing for his still-forming bruise. They've inspected his hip together, both agreeing that by the morning that bruise will likely be standing out. Alex is a fidget when he is uncomfortable, and in the end Michael throws his arm around his shoulders pulling him closer still, just to stop him moving around so much. Apparently, it's exactly what Alex wants. He curls his fingers into Michael's shirt and sighs in contentment.

It is Michael's bladder that eventually stops them from curling into one another even more, which Michael tells himself to be grateful for. It is much easier to extract himself from Alex's grip with an excuse. He listens to Alex moving around the Airstream as he brushes his teeth, sure both of them should sleep soon.

"You okay?" Michael asks as he passes Alex at the sink, and since all barriers seem to be coming down, he squeezes him at the waist as he does.

"Thought I'd do these dishes, rinse the bottles."

"Your leg doing okay?"

"I think so," Alex says as he looks down, clutching on to one of their beer bottles. "It aches more than anything. I ache."

"Then, you should sleep. _We_ should."

"We should," Alex agrees, putting the bottle on the side and drying his hands.

Michael tidies away the few things he needs to as Alex uses the bathroom, remaking his bed for him so it's ready for Alex just to climb in. He is just tweaking the corner of the comforter when Alex returns to squeeze his hand in thanks before sitting.

"Michael."

Michael looks down at the hand still gripping on to his and swallows nervously for whatever he is about to say. "Yeah?"

"Would you… can you sleep with me again?" Alex asks, playing with Michael's fingers. "Just for tonight?"

Michael doesn't even hesitate. He strips down to his boxers and crawls back into bed behind Alex, tucking in behind his knees. Alex looks at him over his shoulder; Michael knocks his forehead against the back of it to avoid the urge to kiss him then splays his fingers over his stomach, relishing in the feel of his skin. He smiles for Alex slotting his fingers back through his, closing his eyes as Alex settles. This time it is Michael who is the first to fall asleep.

* * *

It's been a good day. Michael went out early this morning straight after breakfast to help fix a couple of cars and an RV, putting more cash in his pocket; some of which he uses to buy them extravagant-looking sandwiches for lunch. When he returns to the Airstream Alex is sat with his legs stretched out along the couch, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You want a drink, Alex?"

"Just made a fresh pot of coffee. Top me up?" Alex asks, waving his mug though still looking at the screen.

Michael takes the coffee jug over to the table to pour for Alex and then takes another mug for himself. He looks through his closet, working out that they probably have about two more days before they'll need to hit a laundromat. He takes sips of coffee in between getting ready for and then taking a shower, leaving it on a shelf in the bathroom as he gets dressed.

When he walks back through, Alex is still hard at work, barely looking up. Michael plates up their sandwiches, splitting the last of a bag of chips between their plates.

"You didn't eat yet, right?" Michael asks as he slides a plate down beside Alex's laptop, smiling for the way he turns his head and how _hungry_ he looks.

"No. This looks amazing."

"These were calling to me through a bakery window when I went to buy some oil; I _had_ to get them."

"They're perfect," Alex agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, sighing in gratitude. "Oh, I didn't realize I was this hungry."

"Did you stop at all this morning?"

"Not yet. Maybe half hour more?"

Michael nods, sending messages to Isobel and Max in between bites of sandwich, taking their plates when Alex has finished. 

On the way back to the couch Michael takes the magazine he's been reading from the shelf over his bed, sprawling out beside Alex though intending to read and not disturb. Though he is distracted when Alex finally moves, for Alex still being only in his boxers. The bruise on his shoulder is mottled purple, and a darker one is visible peeking from his boxers for them sitting too low. How can he stop his eyes from landing on that?

"You finished work for the day?" Michael asks as Alex stretches and yawns, tugging up his boxers from where they've slipped.

"I did. Did you fix everything you wanted to look at?"

"Everything," Michael agrees, rolling to the side to reach into his back pocket and showing him the cash he's made.

"Every day is a day off for you. Right," Alex teases, smiling before he announces that he's going for a shower.

Michael continues to read his magazine though has one ear strained to make sure Alex doesn't get into any trouble and slip. Which is probably far too overprotective. But for the lost look on Alex's face in that cafe, Michael will take every precaution that he can.

"How's your leg?" Michael calls out when Alex returns, as Alex washes them some fruit to eat.

"Still aches, but it feels better," Alex says, cursing under his breath when one of the grapes in his hand slips.

Michael is across the Airstream in seconds for the way Alex stumbles when bending to reach for it, keeping him upright with a soft grip at his waist. Michael knows he shouldn't react when Alex licks his lips and really _looks_ at him, pulling Michael close.

Alex rests his hands on his arms curling his fingers around them as he swallows hard. He won't stop _looking_ at him; how is Michael supposed to resist that look? Alex licks his lips a second time like he does when he's nervous, leaning closer and closing the gap between them. But then all that they are, and all that they could be—all they need to still work on—hits Michael. He can't risk any of it.

"We can't," Michael says, pulling back in alarm and in doing so leaving Alex to stumble forward in confusion. "At least, not yet."

Michael swallows back the frustration ready to rage through him, sure he can see it in Alex's eyes as well. But neither one of them should be pushing this yet.

Alex licks his lips again, taking a deliberate step away to make another gap between them. "It's okay—"

"It's not that I don't want to," Michael adds, chewing his lip, and after hesitating, reaching out to tap his fingers against Alex's chest. "I just want… I need us to get things right this time. I need… I want us to be okay. To not have anything still left that we're not saying to one another."

"No secrets," Alex says, frowning.

"Well, no secrets would be great," Michael agrees, keeping his hands steady down by his sides. "But it's not really about secrets. Actually, it's not about that at all. I think everyone keeps things to themselves. It's not about that. I don't expect you to share every single thought in your head with me at all times."

"Then, what?" Alex asks, his fingers twitching like he can't be this close and not touch him. Michael understands that feeling all too well, shoving his hands deep in his pockets so he can't be tempted to reach out again.

Only now, Michael is the one stumbling—over his words. "Well. We've been doing better at the talking thing. Kind of getting to know each other properly."

"You think we didn't know each other properly before?" Alex asks. "We spent ten years—"

"Not doing much talking," Michael finishes for him. They have talked, so much, both now and over those ten years. But they have never really said enough. It's as though at times they've talked about the most difficult things in the world just to avoid the discussions they really needed to have.

"But we've been getting better," Alex says, frowning.

"Yeah. We have, Alex. And I don't want us to throw all that away because we decide to stop talking."

"Who said we had to stop talking?"

"No one. But you know what happens when we—you know how quickly we forget talking altogether. You know we do."

They can't keep their hands off one another, is what happens, every time they give in. And as much as Michael thinks he might want to climb the walls for how much he wants Alex, _they_ are far too important. So he'll wait. Hell knows he should have learned some restraint over the years, and especially these past few weeks.

"Just how much talking do you think we need to do?" Alex asks, now sounding angry, which Michael both gets and doesn't.

"Alex. C'mon. This is important."

"I need some air," Alex says, ignoring Michael's protests when he puts on his prosthetic and quickly dresses, stumbling out of the Airstream without another word.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***warnings***
> 
> Okay, Alex and Michael are going to _talk_; some subjects are going to come up that are hard to hear about. If you want a headsup on what those are before reading, check the end notes.

The moment he hears the uneven footfall outside the Airstream, Michael knows relief for knowing Alex is home. He braces for an argument, then tells himself to at least stop pacing. By the time Alex has the door open and has climbed the steps, Michael has flung himself down on what has become _his side_ of the couch, casually flicking through a magazine he'd bought last night when waiting for their Thai food. He couldn't look more like he was pretending to be disinterested if he tried.

"Sorry," Alex says with his back to him as he begins to shrug out of his jacket. He's hunched over, so Michael sits up wondering if he's still hurting.

"Okay."

"Okay. You wanted to talk. So let's _talk_."

Michael swings his feet down watching Alex pull a bottle of scotch from a paper bag he'd kept out of his view, clunking it down on the table. He is then huffing in surprise when Alex drops down a large bottle of acetone as well.

"Okay?"

"I got this from a pharmacy. Not sure if that makes any difference. But you said that this was like… I'm guessing it has the same effect on you as alcohol. Only quicker. So if we're going to be on an even footing with this, you should probably drink that," Alex explains, finishing taking off his jacket and throwing it on the couch before sitting.

"Works for me," Michael says, staring at Alex as he opens a cupboard in the kitchen sliding out two glasses, floating them over to the table without moving.

If he meant to test him, which Michael thinks he probably was, Alex is unfazed. He only opens both bottles and pours them both a drink as though glasses floating through the air is an everyday occurrence. Alex holds his glass out for him to clink against then slings back his first drink, refilling before Michael can even take a sip.

"So. When I said before outside your Airstream; that we didn't _talk_. I meant that, for all the talking we did, there was a _lot_ we never said. A _lot_ of things."

"Like what?" Michael asks as he tastes the acetone. It's strong. _Good_. Michael thinks he'll need it for this conversation.

Alex toys with the scotch bottle, thumb nail already working at the label. "You had a rough time in your foster homes. Didn't you."

Well, this isn't what he meant by talking at _all_. But Michael will take it. "It's not a secret. We've talked about it some."

"Yeah, Michael, but not a lot. I don't… I never knew how bad it was. You never said. You always changed the subject, brushed things off. I'm tired of us doing that."

"I'm getting the impression things weren't all that easy for you either," Michael points out, with so many of Alex's comments these past few weeks painting a picture of _Jesse Manes_ that is evening uglier than what he'd already been imagining. How didn't he piece together all the possibilities of what Jesse did to _Alex_?

Alex takes another gulp of scotch and shrugs. There is no mask, no hiding, no indication that he is thinking of hesitating. "You know maybe better than anyone what he's capable of."

Reflexively Michael flinches, with flashes of _hammer_ and _pain_ and _shouting_ making his skin crawl, and the Airstream feel too tiny. His instinct is to run outside, suck in lungfuls of cold air to avoid the subject. But he can't.

"I remember," is all he says instead, slinging back his drink and topping up his glass.

"That wasn't the first time, or the last time, that my father used… _violence_ as an education."

Michael feels sick. He both knew and he didn't know that similar things must have happened to Alex for the anguish in his voice when he'd called for his dad to _stop_. What else has he endured that he doesn't know about?

"I think my dad realized I was gay probably before I did," Alex continues, still working at that scotch label. "He always looked at me differently than my brothers, always quicker to criticise, to make the attempt to _steer me on the right path_. At first, it was with the regular kinds of things. Locking me in my room, making me go without dinner. Nothing that bad."

"Bad enough," Michael argues, though he's experienced plenty of the same himself. And brushed it off as Alex has just done.

"Honestly? I would have taken that for _years_ in place of pretty much anything else."

Michael has to ask, even though he doesn't want to. He doesn't know if he can control himself, not lash out when he hears all that Jesse Manes has done. But he nods for Alex to keep talking, because they're here now, they can't turn back.

"He had a belt he used to like, with this… thick, heavy buckle. And his fists, obviously. Easiest weapon around, I guess. But honestly? It was the words. The _talking_. All of that probably got to me more than anything else," Alex says, frowning to himself as he continues to sip his scotch. Michael hates the thought of Alex sat across from him reliving it all.

"Like what?"

"Bruises, and cuts, and… even broken bones—wrist, rib, collarbone," Alex adds, absently tracing them out. Michael wants to _hit_ something. "Those things, they all heal in days, weeks sometimes. But the words, they never really go away. I still hear them sometimes. I still hear them, and then it makes me sick, any time I catch myself sounding like him."

"Alex—"

"And I think, my brothers knowing about it, and being okay with it—and if not okay with it, then willing to ignore it—maybe hurt the worst of all. I didn't think so at the time. I didn't think any of that bothered me. But when I saw Flint at Caulfield, I could've… I'm glad, really, in a way, that you were with me. That I had _you_ to think about."

Michael shakes his head. "What do you mean?"

Alex grits his teeth and closes his eyes, his expression becoming deadly when he snaps them open again. "I don't know if… I'm not sure what I would have done to him, if my thoughts weren't… elsewhere."

Did he even know Flint was there at Caulfield? Michael's memories are hazy. He remembers _Alex_ of course, because nothing in the world ever distracts Michael from _him_. He remembers his mother, and his own despair, and how the world seemed to be ending for him even when he wasn't aware that it had begun.

He remembers desperation, and terror, and the fear of _losing_ people he loved, _again_; like he's experienced over, and over again both with Alex, and being moved away from Isobel and Max so many times when they were growing up.

Most of all, Michael remembers his mother's words, her understanding of who _Alex_ was to him, and that her love for him meant she wanted Michael to leave her behind. To live on. To have the life that he hasn't, if he's honest, ever thought he was entitled to have. He thinks he is now, maybe, because of _her_. Surviving, trying to do something with his place in this world, is the only way he can honour her legacy. He's been thinking about that for _days_. But right now he has to focus on these words he needs to say to Alex, instead of letting his thoughts wander in the way they always do to avoid talking about _other_ things that hurt.

"I got left behind. At the family services place. Homes. Whatever. I was a weird kid, in trouble a lot," Michael says, picking the highlights of his childhood history. Alex hasn't gone into every detail just yet, so neither will he.

"You said Isobel and Max were adopted together?"

"Who'd want the freak scrawling weird shit on the walls, picking fights with everyone? I didn't _always_ start the fights, but I was a magnet for them. Fights always went on around me. Who'd want that in their home?"

"Foster parents are supposed to care for their kids, no matter what," Alex argues, "that's the whole _point_."

Alex's home life seems like a far bigger hell than anything Michael has been imagining, but he still has a pretty naive outlook on _fostering_. Though Michael can't really blame him for that.

"Some people really do just get into it for the cash, I guess. It's all supposed to be heavily checked out, and regulated. That is _not_ my experience."

"So you… you mentioned some violent drunk in Santa Fe?"

"Yeah. _That_ was a blast."

"Michael—"

"I'd been hit before that," Michael says, trying not to relive it. "Kicked. Punched. Knocked down the stairs a couple of times. But that guy? It wasn't about punishment, or anything, or discipline. It was just what he _did_. He was just… he was a dick. Took out all his inadequacies on a kid. And come morning, I don't even think he knew he did it. Just got up, hungover as hell, made us breakfast. I guess I should be grateful, at least, that he was one of the better places I got fed."

Alex knocks back his glass, the rage in his eyes revealing more of that quiet fury building in him. _Why_? Michael wants to ask. There is nothing either of them can do about their pasts now.

"And then… Christian fundamentalists?" Alex asks, his voice so clearly controlled, because it comes out tight, and clipped, like he doesn't trust himself.

"You don't want the details," Michael says, not really sure he knows what to do if Alex flies off the handle in anger. Not because he thinks he'll do _him_ any harm. But the Airstream is only so big; if Alex needs to let off steam, Michael doesn't want _it_ to bear the brunt of it.

"I don't," Alex agrees, his tongue clicking as he again fills his glass, "but I need to hear them anyway."

"Well. It's not like I hadn't been through a few _exorcisms_ already," Michael says, absently stroking over his arm, sure he can still feel the searing pain there sometimes.

"Wait," Alex says, the scotch bottle thunking down on the wood of the table, _"what_? You mean there was more than that one time you told me about with… in the desert that night?"

"People thought they could blast the bad out of me with their faith," Michael says, shrugging as though it's nothing. It _isn't_ nothing, but how many times is he going to rehash those parts of his past? Replaying them doesn't ever change anything.

"Michael…"

"These _fundamentalists_ lived and breathed their religious teachings. All that starving as a punishment thing? I get it. I _got_ it. In a lot of places, obviously, but there, they… let's just say they took it to extremes."

"They _starved_ you?" Alex asks, looking horrified. Michael tops up his glass for him since he hadn't finished and pushes it into Alex's hand.

"That was the kindest thing they did," Michael says, thinking of all those sermons, and other punishments that went with that deep, bone-gnawing hunger. Though there was one kinder thing that he remembers well. Michael's skin sings, and he itches to bathe in hot water. Wasn't that the way they used to say to wash away his sins? It was the only peace he'd had; they weren't to know how at home he was when the water was scalding. He used to step out of the bath pink skinned and gleaming from his _punishment_, and they would be _proud_ of his ability to suffer the pain of it. Wherever he is from, scalding hot water is apparently the normal way to bathe. No _fundamentalist_ needed to know that.

"Finish your glass."

Michael watches Alex sling back his own drink and start to stand, doing as asked then rushing to join him. "Because?"

"Because. We're doing what we usually do," Alex says, taking Michael's glass from his hand and putting it on the kitchen counter, turning back to pick up both the scotch and acetone.

"And what do we usually do?"

"Well. Obviously not _that_ since one of us is actually thinking today," Alex says, and it's part exasperation, part gratitude. Though it's also said with that unsubtle once over he gives him that Michael swallows hard for, feeling that _tug_ in his core.

"So…"

"Truck."

Alex swings the Airstream door open and steps out, giving Michael a heart attack for doing so without holding on to anything. He quickly grabs Alex's jacket once he sees he's made it to the ground then charges out behind him, closing the door.

Alex, always so nimble, is already stood in the back of the truck, looking around him. "There are usually blankets."

Michael laughs as he joins him, staring down at the bare truck floor and shuddering for the thought of how cold it must be. "Well. _Yeah_."

"So…"

Michael nudges Alex's arm for his attention, waiting for him to put the bottles down and slip on his jacket. When Alex does that Michael concentrates as he first opens the Airstream door with his thoughts, and then takes some blankets from a closet, as well as some pillows, to bring outside. Alex watches in fascination as everything drifts towards them, laughing as Michael deposits half of the blankets and pillows in his hands.

They make quick work of making the truck as snug as possible, sitting in opposite corners behind the cab clutching on to their bottles. Alex is right; this _is_ one of their usual things to do. Usually curled up together and passing one bottle of something between them, but this is good as well.

"Today isn't the first time I've wanted to kiss you. Since we left," Alex adds, taking a swig from his scotch, and looking at Michael in thought.

"No. Same for me."

"I don't know why I never thought you'd be the one to stop it happening."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, you've always… you've never denied me anything. Like _that_."

Michael takes a larger gulp from his bottle, feeling on unfamiliar territory. The acetone doesn't help him find any words to say.

"I'm not saying… I don't know what I'm saying, actually," Alex says, holding up the scotch bottle and smirking at it. "Maybe I'm just out of practice with this."

They can't get drunk and forget this converation. It's too important, however uncomfortable, and wherever it's headed.

"It's been real hard not just falling back on what we always do," Michael blurts out, immediately feeling stupid. Since when has he had an issue using the word _sex_?

"Yeah. It has," Alex agrees, with _that_ look that is going to get Michael into trouble if he doesn't concentrate. "Us sharing such a small space, it's just a reminder of all those motel rooms. How we lived so closely like that, for—it's just a reminder of all of that."

"Yeah. It is."

"But I wouldn't trade it," Alex adds, "I wouldn't want to go back to motel rooms. I wouldn't want us to be in separate places. As weird as that sounds with… all of this, I wouldn't want it. I feel _better_ knowing you're asleep near me. It's not near enough, but… I think we're right to be cautious. Thank you for reminding me."

Well, now Michael is worried he's pushed him away again. "Doesn't mean I don't lie awake wishing I could climb into bed with you."

"Doesn't mean I don't want you to," Alex retorts, "like the past couple of nights."

"Well. You can put that down to what happened with your leg. Which, by the way, how was it? With however far you went?"

"It was fine. I took the truck, drove into the town, bought these," Alex says, waving his bottle. "Sat and yelled at myself for a while. Drove back. You didn't hear?"

"The yelling or the truck?"

"Both, I guess," Alex replies with a soft smile that Michael can't help echoing.

"I didn't."

"We can't exactly go anywhere tonight now," Alex says then, dropping his head back and sighing.

It's on the tip of Michael's tongue to really ask about all these places Alex is taking him to. But they've already talked about things beyond _them_, and that is what they really should be talking about.

"Guess not," is all Michael says for not knowing what else to.

"Maybe it was good to stop in one place for a few days."

"Maybe."

The only sound between them then is the soft swish of liquor as they continue to drink without saying a word. Michael wants to say so many things that he can't figure out what to say first. It's not fair to leave it all to Alex, even if he is the one who started this _talk_.

"So. Why were you yelling at yourself, Alex?"

Alex slumps more, half-closing his eyes. "Because I just walked away. _Again_. Like you accused me of doing—like you said I always do."

"You came back, though."

"I always do," Alex says with a bitter smile. "Which is why this is all so… I always know I'm coming back to you. Always. For everything. So, why do I keep walking away when we could just… figure things out?"

"You said I always give you reasons to," Michael points out, the pleasant heat of that acetone now starting to work, numbing the sting of that particular reminder.

"Which makes it sound like everything is your fault. When it isn't. Far from it," Alex says, with that earnest intensity that always leaves Michael not knowing where to look.

"Okay."

"Michael, it isn't. It _isn't_ your fault. Any time I've made you think it was, when I walked away, or went back early, or—any of those times. It _wasn't_."

"I share some of the blame for—"

"I could have easily turned back around. Every time. I chose not to. Maybe I took you for granted because I always knew I was coming back. Because I always expected you to be here. That's not fair."

"You said you thought I'd be long gone when you came back," Michael says, trying to deflect a little of the remorse from Alex's eyes.

"I thought I'd pushed you too far last time. Leaving so abruptly, like I did."

"All of this, is not just on you. It's on us both, Alex. We both said things, and did things that… we could've worked through, if we wanted to."

"Did we not want to?" Alex asks, his voice small, and uncertain.

"Maybe we weren't ready to. Maybe we… maybe the timing was all off."

"Maybe," Alex says, his voice filled with doubt.

"The fact is, I've never been like this with anyone but you," Michael adds. "I never wanted to."

"Like what?"

_Words_, Michael thinks again, hating how hard they are to get out. "You know I haven't exactly been—let's just say I haven't been _alone_ all the times you've been gone."

"You think_ I_ have been?" Alex replies immediately, filling Michael's mind with ghosts of images that he _really_ doesn't want to see. Of other people touching Alex, of them getting to know all the parts of him that only _he_ should know. He gulps back his acetone to chase those images away, or to at least blur them a little.

"But I never wanted more than—with anyone else, that's all it's been. _Just_ that," Michael emphasizes so there is no way for Alex to misinterpret him.

"Sex?"

"Yeah."

"That's all it's ever been for me too. With anyone else, I mean," Alex says, finally pulling off a chunk of his bottle label. "I tried to want more, or to feel something more, but I never could."

"Same with me," Michael agrees, relieved for hearing these things even if they make him uncomfortable for reminders of _other people_. He knows he has no right to feel like that.

"I don't think I've stopped wanting you for ten years," Alex says, "more than ten years, now. It doesn't fade, or stop, it's just—you're always _here_."

"Same for me," Michael says, watching the way Alex clutches at his chest. Michael tells his heart it shouldn't be in his throat, because everything Alex is telling him he should already be aware of. It still races for it, as though celebrating.

"I've loved you for just as long," Alex adds, making Michael's throat catch.

"Well. We're lucky, I guess. Those things don't always go hand in hand. I love you too," Michael blurts out then so Alex doesn't have the chance to think otherwise, "I always have, Alex. You know I have."

"We should have told each other that, long before now."

"We should have done a lot of things."

"We're still here though," Alex says, sitting forward and stretching so Michael can knock his bottle against his. He then tucks back up in his blankets and shivers enough for Michael to want them to go back inside. But he won't ask, not yet, not if Alex still has things to say. They both have, really.

"Yeah. We are. And that's the only reason I stopped us earlier. Because _believe_ me. I didn't want to stop; not at _all_."

Alex's smile turns into a soft chuckle as he nods his head back against the truck. "I know. I think maybe you got the brunt of my _frustration_ earlier. Sorry."

Michael pauses from drinking and laughs. "I might know a thing or two about that."

"This must be the longest… break, for you?"

"It isn't; not by a long way," Michael replies, laughing again. Of course he's always given that impression. And of course there have been times when Alex's assumptions have been nothing but true. But there have been long stretches of months when he couldn't bear the thought of being close to anyone for anything. When even a hug from Isobel would put his skin on edge, too tense for any contact at all.

This, though, this evening sat here with Alex in the back of the truck under the stars, this he likes. It gives him happy memories that, thanks to the acetone, rise above any sadder ones. It makes him hopeful that after everything they have been through this is still a thing for them. Together though in silence, content in each other's company, looking up at the stary sky. He could do this for hours.

"I don't want to rush things either," Alex says after a while, breaking the easy silence between them. When Michael raises his head from where he's let it fall back against the cab, it is to see Alex frowning as though conflicted by his own words. "But I think us sharing a bed these past couple of nights has made all these walls we've put up to stop that happening just crumble."

"More like, obliterated them," Michael replies. He needs to sleep in his own bed tonight no matter what, because after all this acetone his hands cannot be trusted to be anywhere near Alex.

"We're so used to just… giving in."

"Our restraint here is, you know. Pretty legendary," Michael says with a wink that is a little over the top—or exactly right for that acetone now hitting him in waves. He checks the bottle and is half-surprised that he's almost halfway through it. Tomorrow morning might be _hell_. Alex is making a good dent in his own bottle and is red cheeked and glassy-eyed already. They haven't even been drinking for that long, just far too quickly.

"Cosmic?" Alex suggests, watching Michael over the lip of his bottle as he drinks.

"No. Cosmic is just _us_. All this other stuff is just… I don't know. Regular?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, do you?" Alex teases.

Michael brandishes his acetone at him. "You bought me this. It's all on you."

"That I can most definitely take the blame for. Is it good?" Alex asks, nodding towards the bottle as he adjusts how he's sat.

"Really good, yeah."

"But is it like… how does it taste?"

"Like _acetone_."

"But for _me_, that would be something I'd just spit out," Alex points out.

Michael cradles the bottle to his chest protectively, earning himself a burst of laughter. "Just… think of it as a really strong alcohol that you don't like."

"Well. If it's good?"

"It's really, really good."

"I really want to kiss you."

Michael curls his hands tighter around the acetone bottle, dropping his gaze. "We've just been over that."

"No. I know," Alex says, soft enough to make Michael look up. That _want_ is written all over his face and it's torture, really, not closing the gap between them.

"Okay—"

"I just wanted you to know that."

"Well. I maybe already did. And also feel the same way. But Alex—"

"It's okay," Alex says, shaking his head to silence him. "I just wanted you to know that I was thinking it. And that I'm not going to, however much I want to. Because I'm getting cold, and I'd really like for us to go back inside. But if we're—"

"You stick to your bed and I'll stick to mine?" Michael suggests, already shuffling down the truck and climbing out.

Less gracefully than earlier, Alex too makes his way off the truck, accepting Michael's hand for the final tug to get him back on the ground. He keeps his fingers curled through Michael's, their other hands still clutching their bottles. This feels stupid, and grounding, and so many other things to Michael, but he holds on for a few more seconds anyway just because he can.

They climb into the Airstream, Michael locking the door behind them. Alex spins too quickly to face him, kept upright by Michael's steadying hand. They're too close _again_, and thankfully not so drunk they don't remember their words from just a few minutes ago. Alex squeezes Michael's arm then takes a step away from him, watching Michael over the rim of his bottle as he takes a swig of his scotch.

"So," Alex says, not breaking their eye contact, "what do we do now?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***warnings***
> 
> Part of what Alex and Michael discuss involves some of the horrible things that happened to them as kids, as in all those group homes/foster homes for Michael, and Jesse Manes for Alex. 
> 
> Your next survey is [here!](https://forms.gle/35cZ2MWX9hvbHPSs8)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things got wordy _again_... here's the first half of the story for this week; second part will be up on Wednesday with a survey. Happy reading!

Michael knows he has to move, that if he doesn't, things are going to escalate between them in the next few seconds. He wants that to happen so badly that part of him wants to just give in and let it happen but he can't; he and Alex actually working on what they have together is far more important than giving in to that need. Though it's so tempting; just another step, just an angle of his jaw, and they could—

"If I don't hug you, right this minute, I _will_ end up kissing you," Alex says, his voice strained, and that same need tugging at Michael written there in his eyes.

Michael takes a swig of his acetone before he can respond in any way, not really trusting himself to not mess things up without a little numbness first. "Well. That works for me. The hug, I mean. The _other_ thing, I want, obviously, but… we can't. Not right now."

Alex lets out a noise that is mostly just a whine, taking a swig from his scotch. They are going to be _rough_ tomorrow. But right now Michael doesn't care. Though he doesn't trust himself to put _down_ the acetone bottle to hug him properly, and apparently neither does Alex. Still, one-armed hugs up close where he can breathe the scent of Alex in as he drops his face into his neck is no bad thing.

Michael closes his eyes for the blasted out breath against his neck trying not to shudder for it, or acknowledge the _heat_ it sends through him. Alex clings on tighter but then steps back again with his head bowed, eyes closed as he takes another drink.

"Okay, no, that didn't help either."

Michael snorts, because he's feeling the same. "Okay, so, how about this? Are you tired?"

"Not really?"

"Good. So, go make your bed, and lie down, whatever, and I'll do the same over here," Michael says, gesturing at his own couch. "We can keep talking, if you want—"

"But at a distance," Alex finishes for him groaning again. His eyes say _why?_ when he looks at him but he nods in resignation and turns away from him, scotch bottle thudding against the kitchen counter he leaves it on while making his bed.

Michael passes him the bottle back once both their beds are ready then sprawls out on his, propping his head up enough so that he can still see Alex. He waves when Alex does the same, both of them taking long drinks from their bottles.

"I'm sorry about your mom, Michael."

Michael freezes for Alex's unexpected words, quickly taking another swig of his drink. "It's okay."

"I don't think I've even said that once to you yet," Alex says, and even for all the distance between them, Alex's frown is loud and clear. "I am sorry. I'm sorry that you found her like that, and for everything that must have happened to her, and then for losing her like… I'm sorry."

Sadness sweeps over Michael but it isn't as though he hasn't thought about this already. In his mind, he's played over the cruel _what if_s of what he could have done to prevent what had happened, the torture of knowing his mom was really so close to him all these years when he didn't even know she was alive. He is unbelievably devastated to be even more alone in the world for knowing there is all this potential time that he's lost with her. But he's also a little resigned. Maybe it will hit him harder one day and he's done all the lashing out he needed to for now. Maybe it won't get to him at all. Michael doesn't know; a part of him questions why he isn't _more_ upset about it.

"Thanks."

"I worry that maybe you following me like you did means you haven't had the chance or the time to really grieve for her," Alex adds, his words twisting in Michael's gut.

"Honestly? I don't know what I feel. Or what I'm thinking. I guess I feel thankful, in a way, that I even got those few minutes with her. It's not enough; not by a long way. But it's more than I ever thought I'd have. It's more than some people ever get."

"You had the chance to speak to her a little?" Alex asks softly, hope written all over his face.

"A little, yeah. Though it was more like she was talking _to_ me. Like she was sharing her thoughts."

"What did she tell you?" Alex asks, then quickly shakes his head. "Sorry, no, that's private; you don't need to tell me anything."

"It's okay," Michael says, taking a drink as he replays what is now a cherished memory. "I don't mind sharing; not with you."

"You really don't have to."

"Well. She showed me Antar, I think. Home," Michael says, replaying the snapshots of images she shared with him of three moons on the horizon and a sea that was red.

"Really?" Alex asks perking up in interest as he shifts so he can see Michael more clearly.

Michael does his best to explain, not sure he's getting any of the details right because these are only brief seconds of his mother's memories, a little warped and altered for how long since she saw them for herself. "Funny thing is," he says, taking another swig from his bottle, "that draw I had to go back there, to build that ship and just _go_? It's gone."

Alex stares back at him, mouth opening to speak but no words coming out.

"I don't know, Alex. I don't know what to tell you. I felt that pull for so long because… I didn't have a place here. I didn't feel like… you know," Michael says then, changing tactic, letting his head knock back against the wall behind his bed, "I told Max not all that long ago that _you_ made me think there was a place for me here. It was only half the story, because you and me, we didn't… well, we didn't—"

"I didn't want anyone to know about us," Alex finishes for him, guilty, and regretful, and with a look that Michael knows means he wishes he could roll back so many years.

That ache of wanting to be with Alex, of wanting to be good enough to be with Alex, of always putting his thoughts of belonging on other people; Michael has always struggled with that. He could have gone to college, had the life that Alex had helped him imagine, and he didn't. He stayed to help his family, because he felt _needed_ here, wanted. There have been so many years of his life when Michael is sure he's never been wanted or needed anywhere, so he's taken what he can get, and when he couldn't get anything close to feeling like he belonged, well. Acetone has been his friend, as has alcohol, the occasional warm body, and too many nights spent in Max's cells.

Alex looks as though he intends to take responsibility for all those years but it wouldn't be fair to let him do that. Michael tries to put together the right words to tell him just as much but Alex is shifting again, standing with a wobble then coming closer, putting them both on dangerous territory.

"I'm going to sit _here_," Alex says, gesturing at the opposite end of Michael's bed away from him. "Okay?"

"Sure?"

"I've been a dick to you."

Michael closes his eyes again, shaking his head. "We've been dicks to each other."

"Well, _that's_ true," Alex says, making Michael jolt in surprise when he rests his hand over his ankle where he still has one leg on the bed. The other Michael presses the foot of into the floor to steady himself. "But I have been, to you. All those years I kept making you wait for me to come back, all the times I just _left_ you in all those motel rooms because I bought into all those reasons we had to argue."

"You know, we've been over a lot of this," Michael says, having to take yet another swig of acetone for the feel of Alex's thumb beneath the hem of his jeans, absently circling against his skin. Such a small, simple touch shouldn't feel so _big_.

"I just need you to know that there _is_ a place for you here. There _is_," Alex insists when Michael goes to speak. "I don't know how you find it, or what you need to believe that you do, or even where it is for you. But there _is_, Michael. Really. And I know we're working on things—"

Michael tries to focus on the way Alex waves his hand gesturing between the two of them, but it's moving too fast.

"—but I hope… I hope in the future, that I can be a part of what helps you find your place. _Be_ part of that place."

They're both drunk, these words are coming out too freely. Michael tries to monitor his speech but can't.

"You already are, Alex. However much stuff we have to get through before any of that. Don't make any difference. I tried telling myself it wasn't like that, but you've always been my place. My _home_."

It's true. For all the ways he blusters and hides behind his bravado, it is only ever _Alex_ who has seen the real him. Only for Alex that Michael has ever truly let all of his guard down. Even Isobel only gets to see part of who he is, and as for Max, well. It's been _years_ since Michael has come even close to letting himself just _be_ around him. When he's alone with Alex, all that need to hide who he is, is gone.

Alex's smile is relieved, and even proud. "Yeah?"

"You think I would've come after you if you weren't?"

Alex's smile turns into a beam.

"_Mom_ said you were my place," Michael adds for the memory, ashamed that in his anger at the world after they'd left Caulfield he'd chosen to forget that, to lash out, to pin everything wrong in his world on loving Alex.

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, still swirling his thumb against Michael's leg. He has to _stop_ him, soon, but the contact is just too warm, too settling for Michael to even put up a token protest.

"I think it must be a language thing; I don't know. Not like I know my native language, or anything. But I _felt_ it," Michael says, "because to her, what she showed me was that _place_ could be _home_, and _home_, if you loved someone, was another person."

Alex's eyes snap shut, though not before a wave of pain crosses his face that Michael hasn't seen in a couple of weeks.

"Hey. Alex? What is it?" Michael asks, aching to move closer but knowing it isn't a good idea. So he waits, and when Alex doesn't speak, knocks his foot against his side.

"Maria."

Michael shakes his head, not understanding, then _hoping_ Alex isn't about to start thinking that _anyone_ but him might be his home. "What about Maria?"

"Maria said the exact same thing," Alex says with a bitter smile as he opens his eyes and sighs. "Maria said that a home could be a person. That it didn't need to be a place with a… white picket fence. That it could be a person, and nothing else."

Well, what is he supposed to say to that? "That one is wise beyond her years sometimes," Michael says, when nothing else will come out.

"Don't I know it," Alex replies with a dry laugh. Fresh guilt hits Michael leaving him teetering between wanting to be sober again, or oblivious to everything.

"Whatever else happens… I really hope you and her can work things out."

Alex sags, shaking his head. "I don't know how."

"Hey," Michael says, sure that _drunk_ isn't the best way to be rehashing this particular conversation, "we'll figure all that out."

"Unless you're telling me that she read your mind and you really _did_ think we were done—"

"I can't know what she did, or didn't do—"

"You—"

"But I'd latched on to this idea that you wanted us to be friends. Decided it meant _only_ that. Maybe she read my mind and saw _that_; you think all this psychic ability stuff means she's capable of working out when a person is lying to themselves?" Michael asks, hoping Alex won't think he is trying to take sides. It's been playing on Michael's mind that Alex at times seems to have even less people in the world than he does. If _he_ is part of the reason Alex loses yet another person, Michael isn't sure how he can ever redeem himself.

"All _I_ know," Alex says, now waving his bottle around and pointing a drunken finger at him that Michael tells himself he should _not_ be finding cute, "is that, were the situation reversed, _I_ would not have done that to _her_. And _she_ would not have done that to _Liz_."

"Alex—"

"That thing about not feeling like you have a place in the world?" Alex says, taking a long pull on his bottle that makes Michael think he's forgotten he was in the middle of saying something. "I get it. Roswell was never my place. Baghdad, and wherever else I worked, they were never my places. _You_ were always my place. You still are."

"And you have the Airstream now," Michael adds because his brain is addled and he's too touched by Alex's words to not make a mess of things. He reaches up behind him and affectionately pats the side of the Airstream, laughing as Alex follows the movement of his hand.

"Yeah. A place that _you_ made me. A _home_ that you made me."

"Well. We _needed_ somewhere—"

"Closest I ever got to anyone doing that for me was getting better tents, or bunks, or something."

"...okay?" Michael has always pictured Alex on the same bottom bunk of some sterile Air Force base wherever he is in the world, never letting his imagination go beyond that.

"Closer to the door, or something."

"Right."

"For… convenience," Alex adds, with his brow furrowed as he contemplates his scotch bottle before taking another sip.

"For taking turns to go on watch, or something?" Michael asks, though when Alex looks at him then it's pretty obvious what he means. "Oh."

"I was lucky, in a lot of ways, with some of the people I worked with," Alex continues, still plucking at the bottle label. Most of it is off now, the last few shreds of it on Michael's comforter. He tells himself he'll sweep them off before sleeping then promptly forgets.

"Lucky with what?"

"That they never really saw me as being _different_ for being gay. Most of them, anyway."

Michael doesn't like where this conversation is going, trying to straighten up where he's sat as though he can pull away from the words he doesn't want to hear. Alex's hand withdraws for his ankle now being out of reach, curling instead in his lap. "Well. That's good, right, Alex?"

"The whole _don't ask, don't tell_ thing? It was mostly good for me. People knew who _were_ and who weren't, and just… made adjustments. Allowances."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning, the way our accommodation got laid out sometimes was done so that it was easier for those of us who needed it to slip away unnoticed. So that no one who _shouldn't_ know what we were sneaking off to do, didn't."

A red fog is descending on Michael with jealousy stamped all over it which he does not want to acknowledge or think about. "Right."

"Making sure certain places were kept clear."

"Got it."

"It was never anything that lasting," Alex adds, staring at Michael now over the lip of his scotch in that same old way he does that makes it impossible for Michael to look away.

"Right." If Alex doesn't _stop_ talking, Michael thinks he might grind his teeth right out of his own head.

"It's not like I don't remember their names, or anything," Alex says, shifting where he is sat and frowning as he tilts his head to the side, like he's _remembering_ something. "Daniel, and Victor, and—"

"Okay, Alex. I get the picture," Michael bites out, loathing how harsh he sounds but not doing anything to soften his words.

Alex seems oblivious, pulling off the final chunk of label from his bottle to examine then letting it drop on to Michael's comforter. "I think the longest thing that lasted with anyone was maybe four months?"

"Okay," Michael says, really, really not wanting to hear this. He drains the last of the acetone and half-wishes to pass out without further comment.

"Though I was never with anyone when I came back to see you."

"Oh. Well _that's_ something," Michael blurts out, knowing Alex _has_ to hear how angry he is. It's worse, somehow, that Alex continues to watch him so calmly.

"Michael—"

"I know, I _know_," Michael says, dropping his head forward and gripping his head between his hands, "I've got no room to talk and all that. This is just _really_ hard to hear right now. Or _ever._"

"I never really thought you'd be bothered," Alex says, eyeing him even more curiously when Michael looks back up.

"Yeah, well, I was. I _am_. And I don't _want_ to be, because I know how unfair that is. But I just… the second I picture you with anyone else, I want to punch something. Preferably myself for ever letting you go."

"When did you let me go?" Alex asks softly, shaking his head.

"Well, not stopping you from leaving, then."

"You tried a few times, in the beginning."

Michael feels slapped for it, for the reminder of when he'd decided it was easier to pretend he didn't care if Alex left or not. He sits back up, crossing his arms tight across his chest. "I know."

"I didn't say any of this to make you feel bad," Alex says then, standing unsteadily. As always, Michael's hands flare out with no conscious effort in case Alex needs him.

"Yeah. I know, Alex. It's okay. Maybe we just… drank too much," Michael says, brandishing his now empty bottle.

Alex sighs, drains the last mouthful of his, and laughs. "I feel like for all we drank we should be feeling much worse than we do."

"Well. We've got morning to come yet," Michael says as he makes himself stand, the Airstream spinning only a little as he gets his bearings. "We both need to drink all the water in the world before we try sleeping, though."

Alex stumbles to the fridge and after three attempts and a lot of laughter he manages to pry the door open. Neither of them had seemed _that_ drunk when sat down, but now, it's pretty obvious. He wobbles when he stands back up handing Michael a bottle of water, having trouble uncapping his own. They both drink greedily, spilling some on their shirts and finding it hilarious for no good reason at all. And since they are both too drunk to really be able to focus they strip down beside their beds without so much as a glance in each other's direction. At least, Alex doesn't notice Michael looking at _him_.

There is a mumbled goodnight from Alex that Michael answers with a grunt since the moment his head hits the pillow he is too exhausted to say anything else. And though Michael's mind is still raging at the thought of Alex with _other people_, in minutes he is fast asleep.

* * *

Michael _feels_ Alex's groan from across the Airstream, quickly clasping out to his side because everything gives a violent lurch. When he's convinced himself the Airstream really hasn't been swept up in a tornado or something Michael checks himself over, cataloging just how bad his hangover is.

It's _bad_. Michael hasn't drunk this much for a while so maybe he is just out of practice, but he feels like death might have been kinder than waking up. Maybe he should just start drinking again to numb himself out of it. Though a string of cursing from Alex's bed has Michael dragging himself upright, blowing out several breaths before he can convince himself to turn enough to get his feet on the floor. He flexes his toes there to ground himself a little, gingerly testing his balance as he stands.

Alex, apparently, is being eaten by his comforter. Michael tries—though not very hard—not to laugh at the continued cursing and muttering that is coming from beneath the comforter as Alex tries to find his way out. When he eventually does he's red-cheeked and shiny-eyed, spitting out what might be actual feathers, his hair that adorable birds' nest that Michael so loves to see.

Michael hasn't moved, still keeping himself propped up in the kitchen bracing against the counter. He feels a _little_ lighter for the disgruntled look on Alex's face but really, all he wants to do is crawl back into bed. Though when Alex starts trying to crawl off his bed getting tangled in the comforter once again Michael has to do something; it's either help, or laugh.

"I need my thing," Alex says, teetering on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor.

"It's here," Michael says springing forward, which he regrets the moment he's stood straight again for how the entire world starts turning.

Alex examines his prosthetic in thought, squinting at it a little as though trying to figure it out. "I don't need this."

"But—"

Alex hauls himself from the bed bracing on one wall, rapidly shaking his head as though trying to clear it. He focuses on Michael after a few attempts giving a rueful smile. "I am embarrassingly out of practice with drinking."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Okay, then. I am embarrassingly out of practice with hangovers. How's that?" Alex counters, staring across the Airstream as though he's been asked to hop the length of a football stadium.

"Same," Michael agrees, gesturing for Alex to move. He's now painfully aware of how much_ he_ needs the bathroom, so aware he's tempted to run there first; he'd beat Alex there in his current state. But he doesn't, just walks behind him in a half-hearted attempt to keep Alex upright when _really_ what he's doing is delaying having to wait as long as he can by being as close to the bathroom as possible.

Michael thinks of anything and everything he can to distract himself from how badly he needs the bathroom, jolting back in surprise when Alex swings the bathroom door open a little too quickly.

"Sorry," Alex says, blinking at him. Michael squeezes him on the arm and rushes past him, sagging in relief.

When Michael returns Alex is halfway through a bottle of water, holding another out for him without even pausing or looking. His hands shake as he opens a cupboard scrabbling around inside in search of pain relief, both of them swallowing down Advil before collapsing back on to their respective beds.

"Well. I won't say I regret any of last night," Michael says, pulling the bed back up into a couch and sprawling out on it again so he can sort of see Alex.

"No, me neither. But I'm going to need to sleep for about six more weeks or something."

"We can do that if you want."

"It's a good plan," Alex says, crawling further up his bed and smashing his face into his pillows, groaning as he curls up into a ball.

Michael sleeps half-propped up feeling marginally-less dead when he wakes a little later. When he checks the time they aren't anywhere near the six weeks Alex was suggesting, but they have managed to sleep through almost their entire morning.

Alex is still glassy-eyed and dazed-looking. He agrees to a shower and returns from it at least looking awake, practically inhaling the coffee Michael leaves him on the side. Michael feels far better for his shower as well though knows the only way they are really going to get over this hangover is food.

"We need to eat, Alex."

"We do. I don't think I can face cooking though."

"No, me neither. Wanna find a diner, or something?" Michael asks, smiling when Alex's face lights up.

"_Yes_."

"Is your leg gonna be okay?"

Together they check his stump over, finding no signs of swelling, no redness, only that tiny graze. Alex is still extra cautious putting his prosthetic on, arms out for balance as he stands to test it out.

"You, uh… planning on going out like that?" Michael asks, gesturing at Alex's chest. He's still only in his boxers. Michael has already put himself through the ordeal of putting on clothes.

"Maybe my jeans will—"

Michael holds up Alex's jeans, tugging to demonstrate how much give there _isn't_, watching Alex sigh and slump to take his prosthetic off so he can dress.

They are both unsteady when they make their way out of the Airstream, shuddering for the bright light and fresh air. Michael badly wants to climb into the truck to drive them so they don't have to move so much but he knows that's probably not a good idea now. So they walk, and they mumble, knocking into one another and muttering apologies, until it's easier just to sling his arm around Alex's shoulders.

"Just to keep us both walking in the same direction," Michael says when Alex turns to look at him with one slowly raising eyebrow. When Alex smiles at him it is so full of affection Michael quickly echoes it then has to look away.

They speed up when they see the first diner, sinking into a booth in the corner and snatching up the menus as though that might bring them food quicker. A server spots them, smiling in sympathy, coming over with black coffee that both of them gulp down no matter how scalding it is. Both order the biggest breakfasts they can, Michael's stomach grumbling in protest now that food is so close but still out of reach.

"I feel like maybe I could eat two breakfasts," Alex says, toying with a salt shaker and still looking a little green around the edges.

"Well. Let's try one first. Second if we get through it."

"Again you're being the sensible one," Alex says, smiling, through frowning at the same time. Michael doesn't know what to make of it.

"Not used to that, huh?"

"Oh, I am. You're far more _sensible_ at times than I've ever been."

"Right." When?

"You are," Alex insists, fixing him with that stare that, as always, prevents Michael from moving. "I'm not sure you realize how much."

Michael says nothing.

"Or how much you can't accept any praise," Alex adds, smiling even more knowingly when Michael can't sit still.

"You have any work you need to do today, Alex?"

Alex sighs, sagging in his seat, though still looking at him. "One day, Guerin, I _will_ convince you that you're a good person."

Michael has a list as long as his arm—both of them; maybe even both legs as well—of reasons why he is anything but _good_. But he's content to see himself through Alex's eyes for now, even if he doesn't believe him.

"But yes," Alex continues, "in answer to your question, I do need to do at least a little. I have a phone call I need to make, actually."

"Do I need to be elsewhere for that?"

"No. Not at all. It's nothing all that confidential, just something that's easier to check over the phone."

"Okay. And you're… enjoying this working on the road?" Michael asks, realizing that since they started travelling he's not really asked anything so specific about Alex's work.

Alex is thoughtful before he replies. "I am. It's taken a little adjustment, obviously, but yes, I am. I'm enjoying how… freeing it is. How I'm accountable for my work but not really accountable to anyone else."

"You've had nothing but control and commands to follow for years. It makes sense."

"I suppose I thought it would be harder to adjust than it has been."

"Well," Michael says, nodding as he sees their server coming to their table, "it isn't as though you've had much time to sit and think about it all that much, with leaving Roswell, and all."

"We have been moving a lot," Alex agrees, sitting back as their plates are slid in front of them.

For the first few forkfuls, there is nothing else said, both of them appreciating the grease of bacon, eggs, and hash browns sinking into them. But then Alex clears his throat, and once their coffee has been topped up for a second time, taps his fingers against the table so Michael knows he's going to speak.

"None of this has turned out how I planned. Though I didn't exactly put a lot of thought into it; we've been over that."

Michael hums in agreement, a little more invested in his very-late breakfast than what Alex is telling him. But he does look up between bites.

"I know this isn't anything you'd been planning either."

"Not exactly someone who _plans_."

"No. But you know what I mean."

"Well. Honestly, Alex? All of the circumstances leading up to this weren't _great_, but. I'm kinda enjoying it. _This_, I mean." Maybe being away from Roswell is exactly the thing they needed to make everything that's happened to them in Roswell right.

"You are?"

"Of course I am."

"But this is... this is a lot, right? When you left Roswell, you probably didn't imagine following me halfway across the country," Alex says, with guilt, and hope, and who knows what else in his eyes.

"Honestly?" Michael says. "I didn't think much beyond finding you."

Alex pauses from eating with this soft look on his face that almost, _almost_ puts Michael off his food for how it clenches his stomach. "I'm glad that you did."

"Yeah?"

"More than you know."

Michael shoves more food in his mouth; Alex nods to say he knows he's avoiding talking.

"I know this has been a—that none of this is what either of us was planning. And I hope that... I hope that after all of this, whatever happens, that we'll… all this time we're taking, it really means something to me, Michael. It means a _lot_ to me. It really does. I just wanted you to know that."

"Well," Michael says, trying not to show how much that means to _him_, which is pointless, "thanks for letting me tag along."

"I just hope that you—I hope that you know I'm trying to do the right thing."

Michael is _not_ alert enough yet for Alex being cryptic. "With?"

"Work. All of it. My choices."

It is going to take at least the rest of the day for Michael to be able to understand any complex conversation. He can only hope that Alex doesn't want to suddenly set off before the morning because honestly, Michael isn't sure he has the stomach for driving for at least a few hours. Though Alex maybe doesn't need to know _that_ right now. "Tell you what," he says, brandishing his fork with a chunk of sausage on the end that he pops into his mouth, gesturing for Alex to wait until he's finished. "You give me that hash brown you're currently pushing around your plate and not eating, and I'll forgive anything."

Alex spears the hash brown on to Michael's plate without comment, ducking his head and smiling when Michael winks.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

"We'll leave tomorrow," Alex says when they're back in the Airstream, sighing as he tugs out his laptop from beneath the couch before doing anything else.

"Okay," Michael says, beginning to put away the few groceries they picked up on the way back. "Where are we going this time?"

"Well, that very much depends on this phone call I need to make."

"Sure you don't need me to be somewhere else for that?"

Alex leans to the side picking up the magazine Michael had been reading yesterday, tossing it across the couch and smiling. "Definitely not."

"Got room for anything else to eat?" Michael says waving the bag of pastries Alex had made a beeline for in a bakery a couple of doors down from the diner, clutching on to Michael's jacket sleeve as he'd dragged him.

"_Yes_."

Michael plates the pastries up sucking the excess sugar from his fingers, sure he could eat all of them in about five seconds. He's tempted to make a pot of coffee to go with them but doesn't want to make a noise while Alex is on the phone. So instead he slides the plate on to the table along with a stack of napkins for knowing all that sugar will fly everywhere. He's watched Alex devour these particular pastries before, woken up to bits of them stuck to his skin in the past when Alex has come back to bed after a late night snack. Perhaps Alex shares those memories for the way he pauses from typing to look between Michael and the plate with a private smile.

After rearranging a pillow behind his head Michael settles back comfortably, finding his page in the magazine. He props it up against his thighs and spreads a napkin over his chest to balance a pastry on, giving Alex a _what_? when he looks and laughs.

"Nothing."

"Make your phone call, Alex."

Alex gives a half salute, typing with a mouthful of pastry then clearing his throat as he presses the phone to his ear.

Michael is determined not to listen, despite Alex having no problem with him being here for the call. The snatches he gets aren't all that interesting anyway. Whoever Alex is speaking to hasn't yet become a friend to him because Alex's tone is polite and professional, and little else. Michael wants the people at Corazon to become friends to Alex. He wants Alex surrounded with people who are good to him.

"How long will the meeting take?" Alex asks then, the slight shift in his voice getting Michael's attention. He watches Alex typing at his laptop wondering what he might be looking up but tries to keep his attention on his magazine only. And he can tell from the look on Alex's face this meeting is _not_ something he wants.

"No, that's fine, I can do that. I have some business to attend to that is closeby. No, it isn't a problem. Okay, I'll acknowledge receipt when you send it through. Thank you."

"You really have some _business to attend to closeby_ to whatever this meeting is, Alex?" Michael asks in teasing, earning himself a smile before Alex grabs another pastry.

"Well," he says with his mouth full, "it's sort of on the way."

"Really?"

"I need to be in Washington tomorrow for a ten a.m. meeting," Alex says, dropping his head back against the couch and groaning. Michael is sure Alex feels what he feels; a weighty return of their hangovers that mean they both could happily go back to bed.

"How far is that from here?" Michael says, resisting the urge to curl up and sleep in protest now.

Alex holds his hands up in a shrug then sighs when his laptop pings, sitting back up. He types quickly, then turns a map for Michael to look at. "It's almost four and a half hours from here."

Michael's done enough early mornings in his life to know he can, but he really, really doesn't want to. The look on Alex's face echoes that sentiment; he's almost pouting. Michael _loves_ that. "Well. How about you give me a couple more hours, then we'll get going today? I'll drive. We can stop near wherever this meeting is overnight so we can at least sleep before you go in. And if we don't leave here too late, then we can cook when we stop, or even pick something up; whatever you think."

"That casserole might be a good idea," Alex says, nodding slowly and tapping his fingers against the table as he thinks. "We still have everything for it, right?"

"We do."

"Great," Alex says, quickly typing again then nodding to himself before standing. "Then let's do that. I'll get stuff started for dinner so we can just throw it together later."

"Should've got that crockpot we talked about."

"We'll make it work," Alex tells him, shaking his head when Michael goes to move. "Rest. If you're driving later, just read for a while. It's fine."

"You're sure?"

"Of course," Alex says. "Even if we do this now, set off for Washington today, tomorrow is going to be a long one. This meeting might be an hour, two hours. We can get lunch after that, then if it's okay with you, I really want us to set off again."

"If that's what you need to do, then we'll do it."

Alex starts pulling things from the fridge, waving a bottle of water at Michael who stands, squeezes Alex's waist in passing, and puts on a pot of coffee as he drinks the water. "Well. I need to go to Montana, so, I think, if we leave this place in Washington tomorrow by maybe twelve, or one, we can be there by five, or six. See what we have to, and then stop for the night."

"It's gonna be a long day," Michael agrees, taking cups from an overhead cupboard, he and Alex moving around one another with ease.

"We can sleep in the day after," Alex replies with a smile that just hits Michael in the stomach.

"Anything you want."

* * *

There is something different about this base they're going to. Michael is sure of it for the tense way Alex is holding himself; far more tense than usual for these things, at least.

Alex had come out of his meeting at Corazon his usual self, flirty and talkative over lunch in the way they can't seem to stop being with each other lately; even finding an excuse to let his hands linger a little longer than necessary on Michael's waist when passing him in the Airstream.

They'd talked continually on the drive from Washington to Montana, Alex even cranking up the radio and singing along for a couple of songs. It's been so long since he's heard Alex sing that Michael found himself gawping at him speechless, hit by such an intense blast of love for him that he'd had trouble concentrating on the road.

They'd stopped for coffee under Michael's pretense of needing the bathroom, needing to take a few minutes to get composed. Alex's look of concern for him when he'd come back out had almost been his undoing. Michael let himself hug Alex purely because Alex's hands were full with their coffees, then threw himself into the passenger seat, insisting Alex take over the driving for the rest of the way. Which Alex was happy doing; sometimes Michael feels like he could watch Alex driving for hours. He's either quiet and thoughtful with a wave of emotions over his face that Michael likes to quietly try to interpret, or he never stops talking, or sometimes when there are interesting things to look at, Alex becomes Michael's own personal tour guide; even if _he's_ seeing these places for the first time just like Michael is.

But Alex has been an odd kind of on edge ever since they pulled into their RV park for the night, driving away with only the truck just minutes later. Though because Michael isn't sure if he's not just imagining the change in Alex's mood he doesn't say anything. He just watches Alex's increasingly pensive expression when they pull up outside the base, wondering what to say.

"Someone's been here more recently," Alex says as he looks around. Michael isn't sure what he's seeing; to him, this base looks no different than half the places they've seen already.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Definitely."

"So, what are you thinking?"

"That we need to be on guard. _I_ need to be," Alex amends as he glances at Michael before continuing to look around them.

Michael wishes he could know what it is Alex is seeing that he isn't, know what it is they're supposed to be looking out for. "I don't know, Alex. This place maybe looks more zipped up than all the others we've been to. You sure you wanna go inside?"

"I need to check," Alex says with quiet urgency, his eyes on the building and determination gripping his jaw.

For what? Michael wants to ask for the thousandth time, but doesn't. "Well. Do you want me to come with?"

"No." Alex's tone is cutting. He softens it a little with another quick glance at him but Michael isn't too fazed; he's used to Alex's quick snap to soldier mode. Though now he thinks on it, Alex's one month of notice for the Air Force has long passed, without ceremony or comment. Alex's expression now is just a reflex action, not a reflection on who he is.

"You'll be okay?" Michael asks, because he can't stop himself.

Alex gives him an exasperated look but nods, quietly climbing out of the truck without another word. Michael watches him get in over the fence with a move that is even more impressive for him having a prosthetic. Alex would tell him to quit fussing, but Michael still prefers it when Alex just finds a way through all these gates that don't involve anything so acrobatic. Even if he might let his mind wander just a little for how flexible Alex still is.

Michael continues to watch as Alex looks around then makes his way into the building, braced for alarms to sound, or shouts to follow, or something to explain why he also feels so on edge. Maybe he's just picking up on how quiet Alex has been on the drive over. Maybe he's just a little off for all the talking they've done these past few days; raw for being so open and honest, and aching for how much he wants to reach out and touch. Again Michael chides himself for letting his thoughts wander, staring at the door Alex has just slipped behind a little longer, then when it's obvious he's not coming straight back out again, turning his gaze away.

Since Michael has sat outside a lot of old buildings and military bases in the past few weeks, he's learned to keep himself busy to stop himself from worrying too much. There is a half-finished Sudoku on his tablet that he completes in minutes, and a few items on his list of jobs for the Airstream that he's already done but forgotten to check off. When he'd waited for Alex's meeting in Washington to be over, he'd done some more grocery shopping, checked a couple of small repairs in their bathroom and got those fixed, and even debated doing laundry before running out of time. It's on his list for tomorrow, Michael hoping they'll stay here in Montana for at least a full day. The RV park they're in for the night is great, with everything they need either onsite or close to hand. If they can get laundry done before they set off for wherever they're headed next then they can last traveling without too many breaks for a good few days.

Since there is nothing else to do, Michael goes back to the Sudoku app, opening one that is supposedly a harder challenge. As he continues to try to kill some time, Michael's eyes dart repeatedly from the tablet screen to the building Alex is currently in, still fighting the urge to follow him inside. He has imagined just about everything possible waiting for Alex inside all these places, and it isn't long before his imagination gets the better of him, the tablet with his Sudoku still open abandoned on the driver's seat.

Why has Alex never asked him to open any of these gates for him? Michael frowns at the thick chain keeping them closed, opening it with little effort, and no movement from his seat at all. The noise of the chain clattering to the floor makes him wince hoping he doesn't startle Alex inside building, or attract anyone else's attention. Michael glances around half-expecting to hear the footsteps of someone running towards him but when they don't, he climbs out the truck and relocks the chain. Though then he thinks about keeping it open for when Alex comes back out, for quickness. With another good look around him to be sure no one is watching, Michael opens the chain again to lay it on the ground beside the gate, and begins to pace.

Curiosity gets the better of him, something rattling it the back of his mind to just _look_. Michael makes his way into what he assumes is a side entrance with his skin crawling for how obviously military the building feels. He used to have nightmares about this kind of place; firstly for fears that he, Max, and Isobel might end up being dissected in some cold, sterile corner of the world like this one, and secondly for what the military has taken from him with Alex.

"Alex?" he calls out hoping he won't be too mad for following him in. He can't even hear him in the building; this complex must sprawl back further than he'd thought.

Trying to work out what each of the rooms he passes might have been used for in the past, Michael attempts to paint a picture of what the building might have been like when it was operational. He passes a canteen, a room he assumes was meant for storage, several empty spaces that must have been offices, and one large square in the corner that must have been a gym. One room looks like a doctor's office, which makes him think of Kyle.

There are some locked doors Michael passes that he could open very easily but chooses not to; unless Alex finds him here and asks him to, of course. So Michael attempts to peer in through the small windows in the doors, and on seeing nothing steps away again.

This building feels wrong. Michael keeps pinching at his throat for how his breath keeps on catching, sure he's forcing these feelings on himself because of what this building represents. So he trails his way around the halls in search of Alex sure the walls are closing in around him, tensed and braced for every unusual sound. That unsettled feeling follows him until he's back outside, where he sucks in lungfuls of air like he's been trapped beneath water.

Michael is back in the truck before Alex even notices he's moved, watching the way he walks towards him with his head bowed, thumbing at his phone. He steps through the open gate without noticing it doesn't need to be snuck through, only realizing once sat in the truck. Michael raises and bolts the chain without even moving, earning himself a small smile of thanks.

"So. You find anything?" Michael asks as Alex continues to type at his phone. His bag he zips up quickly while it's still on his lap, tucking it into the truck's footwell and starting the engine.

"I'm not sure," Alex says, frowning at the building. "I want to come back."

Michael tells himself he doesn't feel sick for the thought. "Okay."

"Are you okay?" Alex asks then, and to Michael's surprise, he reaches across the seats to cup the back of his head.

Michael fights the urge to press his head back into his hand, though can't stop the way his eyes fall closed for Alex's touch. "Yeah. Sure."

"Not still hungover?" Alex asks, pushing Michael's hair back from his forehead. It has been too long since Alex touched him like this, and Michael resists, barely, snapping his head to the side to kiss his hand like he might have done playfully in the past.

"Nope. All good."

"You don't look so good. I mean, you look like maybe you're—wait," Alex says, looking at the gate then back at him in alarm, "did you follow me in there?"

Michael screws up his face in apology. "Yeah. I did."

"Did you… did you see anything?" Alex asks, turning more in his seat to look him over.

"A lot of empty rooms. Some of 'em locked up."

"Do you think you could go in?" Alex asks, with urgency in his voice that makes Michael's heart begin to race. "Open the locks, I mean, on the doors? I'm not asking you to, I just… could you?"

Michael's interest is piqued, overriding how uneasy he feels. "I would, if you wanted me to."

Alex looks torn. "If you're not feeling all that great, absolutely not."

"We're here now," Michael says forcing himself back out the truck before he can argue with himself. "If it means we don't need to make a second trip back here, I'm all for it."

"I know you don't like these places," Alex says as he follows him, standing back as Michael opens the gate once again with ease.

"What's to like?" Michael asks, determination putting his head down as he makes himself walk forward.

"Not a lot, I guess."

"Then let's see what's behind these doors and get out of here," Michael says, walking a little faster. He wants this over with, as soon as possible.

"Wait. Slow down," Alex says, grabbing his arm as he catches up to him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. You're just… running."

Michael's chest is tight, his fingers curled into fists by his sides, and his breathing heavy. He has no idea how fast he's walking, or, to be honest, any idea about much of anything else. Everything feels wrong. "Oh."

"This place has a… history, according to what I've read," Alex adds as they come to a stop outside one of those locked doors, his jaw clenched when Michael looks. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to be sure it was secure. That nothing was left behind here that shouldn't have been."

"What kind of history?" Michael asks as he opens the door to let them inside.

"This place was a temporary… detainment center."

"For?"

"Illegal immigrants."

Michael turns his head for the disgusted click in Alex's voice, feeling even more sick himself. Now he's started to look around, it's fairly evident that this was some kind of bunk room; Michael doesn't like to imagine what other things might have happened here.

"Well. No offense, Alex. But I'd have preferred it if you'd just found a stash of weapons in here or something."

"Yeah, me too."

Michael continues to look around the room. There is no sign of life here, no evidence of anything, but he is convinced the air is filled bad memories left behind. He sees no small token of comfort, or anything to suggest humans were once kept here, or cared for. Cattle, perhaps, but nothing that was given an ounce of dignity or respect. Rage boils in Michael before he can get it under control; it's Alex's steady, reassuring hand on his arm that stops him sending something scattering across the room. "You wanna try the other room opposite?"

"If you're sure?"

Michael backs out of the room quickly, immediately opening the door behind them. The layout is the same; two long rows of bunks with the thinnest mattresses Michael thinks he's ever seen. There is a lingering stench of too many people being crammed into a too small space. Again Michael wonders if he is projecting; all those images from things happening on the border are firmly lodged in his thoughts, all those faces of people being treated like they're nothing constantly tugging at his heart.

"So? Anything you're seeing that I'm not, Alex?" Michael asks, trying to see these rooms through Alex's eyes and failing.

Alex paces around the room twice before shaking his head, sighing. "No."

"You still think you need to come back?"

"Not now," Alex says, absently squeezing him on the arm in passing. "Thank you."

"Alex," Michael says, hands up in defense as he walks towards him, lightly gripping his upper arms. "I have to ask."

"Ask what?"

"This place," Michael says, swirling his thumb over his jacket, "what were you hoping, or not hoping to find here?"

Alex stares back at him, not moving, not flinching from his touch, not doing anything at all. Which only makes Michael more nervous. "Michael..."

"I know, I know, I can't know everything. But we just broke into rooms that were locked for a reason, Alex. And while that doesn't bother me none, there was a time when it would have bothered _you_."

"I'm not that person anymore," Alex says, licking his lips, looking at Michael's, then visibly forcing himself to step back.

"No, I know you aren't." Michael tells his heart to stop thudding like it is. Clearly, Alex is debating with himself before answering. Michael tries not to hold his breath as he waits.

"Back before I left, I heard things. Maybe I saw things; files I wasn't meant to, things like that," Alex says, still being cautious with his words.

"Okay?"

"Places like this one," Alex adds, waving his arm as he looks around, "places where they've kept people. From the border, or... people they've rounded up. People that just disappear."

"So the military was, or is, a part of this?" Michael asks, his voice rising as his heart continues to race.

Alex gives him a look that says, _what do you think?_ Michael wants to be sick.

"So... why are _you_ here, Alex?"

"Checking that _they_ really aren't here anymore. I can't know where they've all gone. I can't know what's happened to them. But I can make sure they aren't here, or places like here. And if they are, then I can... then I can do something about it."

Michael doesn't see how; Alex has no military connections anymore. But he nods anyway, because if Alex is adamant he could help, then Michael will believe him.

"Well. No one is here, right?" he says, gesturing around them. "No one here anymore that we can do anything to help?"

"No," Alex agrees, "and I don't think I'm the first one who's been here to check."

"Outside. When you said you thought someone had been here recently. You think that was someone checking up like you?"

Alex shrugs. "I don't know. But there isn't anything else I can do here. There isn't anything here for me to find."

Michael nods, skin itching to be out of this building, yesterday. He resists the urge to run, waiting to follow Alex's lead. "Then. If you don't need to be here again, and we're done here, what do you want to do now?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your next [survey](https://forms.gle/gTkiNmXEVpPBtDe66)!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Once again this chapter needed splitting...

"I think I've made enough decisions for us both today," Alex says, still looking at Michael with a little concern. "What do _you_ want to do?"

"Honestly? Right now all I want to do is get _outside_. I really need some air."

Alex nods, though Michael doesn't wait to see if he has anything else to add, charging out of the building and once again sucking in big gulps of air until he can breathe steadily. This time the oppressive feeling of that building makes his head pound; Michael has to drop his hands to his thighs and lean on them, trying to stop this _fluttering_ that won't relinquish its hold.

"What is it?" Alex says as he joins him, resting his hand on Michael's back. Michael barely feels it to begin with, though when he does he has the urge to shrug Alex off; everything feels too _tight_. He straightens slowly so Alex doesn't know the way his skin is bristling against his touch, because this isn't to do with Alex at all. But Michael feels like he needs at least a few minutes alone.

Alex seems to understand anyway, clearing his throat and gesturing at the truck without even trying to make eye contact. Michael nods even though Alex isn't looking, continuing to suck in deep breaths as he begins to pace around. The air is cool, dusk on the horizon; Michael tries to focus on the way the view shimmers in the distance putting his thoughts there, instead of back inside.

The crunch of his boots in the dirt beneath his feet is the next thing for Michael to focus on, then the resecuring of the gate before he can bring himself to climb into the truck. He stands with his hand on the door handle not really sure what is happening to him. He glances back at the building that has put him in this spin then huffs out another breath, yanking the door open.

"Are you okay?" Alex asks when he's given Michael a moment to adjust in his seat. Michael watches him smooth his hands over the steering wheel as he looks for a way to answer, turning his head only just enough to smile.

"Sure."

It's so obvious he's lying. The tone of his voice, the pitch of it; nothing much he can do to hide that something is _off_ with him, then. Though even Michael doesn't know what the source of that _off_ really is; so how could he explain any of this to Alex?

"Okay," Alex says, pausing before firing up the engine, beginning to turn the truck around. "So? What are we doing?"

"Do you have any other work to do tonight?"

"I need to respond to three emails, and that is all."

"You need to report back about what you found in there?" Michael asks, gesturing with his thumb behind them at the building now thankfully shrinking in his vision.

Alex just purses his lips together, keeping his eyes on the road.

"So, these emails aren't going to take all that long?" Michael asks instead, still far too out of it to be irritated for Alex evading his question.

"Maybe a half hour?"

"What about work tomorrow?"

"Maybe an hour. Maybe two. I'm fairly up to date."

"Okay. Then, how about this? You send those emails, check whatever you need to, and then we take off the rest of tonight; maybe even tomorrow morning. Well, _you_ take them off; I've got nothing I need to be doing."

"Is this your way of trying to get me to take a break?" Alex asks, smirking as he drives.

"Yes. It _is_."

"Are you getting bored?"

"What? No," Michael says, shaking his head when Alex looks, "not at all. It's just been a long day, and you've been busy. A break would be good."

"Then, let's do that."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Alex says, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel as he waits to join the traffic at a junction. "Maybe we can pick up something to eat so we don't need to cook? I don't feel like cooking, and I'm fairly sure you don't either."

"I could eat a burger."

"Burgers it is. You keep an eye out for a place."

They drive in silence, stopping for those burgers and Michael leaving Alex to wait for them while he runs into the grocery opposite for some beer. He's tempted to get some acetone and scotch, even finds a couple of bottles on a shelf, though talks himself out of it. He's not getting back into that habit, of drinking away any time he feels _off_.

Before he leaves the store Alex texts him with a short list of other things he wants. Michael looks around the store in doubt getting what he can, then makes his way back to the truck. Alex is already climbing in with a large bag containing their dinner balanced on his lap. Michael drags it across into his own lap so Alex is free to drive.

Even over dinner, which Michael devours on realizing just how hungry he is, Michael still doesn't feel quite himself. Alex keeps trying to make conversation, and Michael does his best to answer. Though it's obvious from the look on Alex's face he's not doing great at that.

"Do you think maybe you'd want to find something else to do while we're traveling?" Alex asks, which must be his fifth or sixth question, and is the only one that really latches in Michael's mind. Alex has kept up a string of conversation whilst working on his emails over dinner, but Michael has really only heard one word in ten.

"What do you mean?"

"You're smart. You're patient—far more patient than I think I'd ever be. You're great at explaining things. You could probably help a lot of students pass their exams. And even if you didn't want to do that, then there's proofreading, or essay marking, or—"

"Are we short on money, Alex?" Michael asks, his stomach clenching, which is uncomfortable for the last of the now-cold fries he's just shoved in his mouth and swallowed.

"Not even close," Alex says, shaking his head in reassurance. "I'm making more than enough—"

"And I still have plenty," Michael adds, thinking of the few jobs he could probably pick up around this RV park in the morning if he asks. They're doing pretty well, he thinks, barely touching any of Isobel's money aside for renovations of the Airstream. Michael absorbs these facts, these details he already knows, telling himself not to overreact to Alex's question.

"I know that you like to keep busy," Alex says with a soft smile that unclenches some of the tightness in Michael's chest.

"Well. There's not much more to do around this place," Michael replies, leaning back to pat an Airstream wall.

"Exactly."

"And we don't know how much longer we'll be on the road."

"Are you thinking about going home?" Alex asks, instantly his expression becoming guarded.

"What? No, of course not," Michael says, and before he can stop himself he is reaching across the table to clasp Alex's hand. He watches Alex trap his thumb beneath his own, swallows when he doesn't let go of him. It takes Michael _strength_ to pull away from Alex before he can't let go.

"Okay. _Good_."

"So. You want me to make myself more useful, or something?" Michael asks, still confused by Alex's line of questioning.

Alex shakes his head, laughing. "No. Not at all. You do far more around here than I do."

"Then, what? Something's clearly on your mind. What is it?"

"I was just thinking, really. That you're smart, and capable, and—"

"Alex—"

"Did you ever thinking about online tutoring, or something?" Alex says, toying with his plate then making a fuss of tidying up their rubbish from dinner now that they're definitely finished.

"For work?"

"You'd be great at it."

Michael is lost; where is this coming from? "Uh, no. No, I've never thought about it."

"Not that I'm saying there's anything wrong with what you already do. For work," Alex says, now looking guilty. Michael is still lost, but at least he's amused.

"Well. You might've done in the _past_, Alex. You might have even said as much, once or twice."

"Because I was an idiot," Alex agrees, his face twisting up in remorse, "and I was selfish. Stupid. You do important work."

"I fix things," Michael says, laughing, stretching his arms out across the back of the couch.

"Exactly. You could have your own business, or—"

"Is that what this is about?" Michael asks, curious more than wound up like he might have been in the past with this kind of questioning. "You wanting me to make more of myself?"

"You could do anything you want, Michael. You really could."

Michael sits forward, steepling his fingers against the table. "So. What's going on?"

"You're following me, wherever I go, without even questioning it. You aren't asking me for _anything_. You're doing all these things for me. And this afternoon—this evening, really—I watched you make yourself _sick_, or something, just to help me out. With something I'm not even giving you all the details of. Michael, you're giving me so _much_," Alex says, curious and exasperated, even as he smiles. "Why aren't you doing anything for _you_?"

Michael has no answer for that. "Well. I wasn't really thinking about—"

"You never really think about _you_," Alex retorts before Michael can get too many more words out. "Max, Isobel. Sanders. Liz. Maria. Anyone who needs help. You put _everyone_ before you, Michael. Even me."

_Especially_ you, Michael wants to say, still not really getting Alex's point. "It's not like I do all that much."

"You're wrong about that. You are, Michael," Alex insists, standing and starting to clean up. Michael stands to join him, earning himself an exasperated raised eyebrow. "You do everything, for everyone, and you never ask for anything in return. You deserve _more_ than that. You need to _know_ you do."

"My life isn't all that big, Alex," Michael says, laughing when Alex nudges him back when he goes to take a cloth to wipe the table.

"Are you saying that means your life is worth _less_ than anyone else's?"

Again, Michael has no answer to that. Alex sighs in obvious frustration, squeezing Michael's arms before he continues cleaning up.

"I'm not saying that, Alex. I'm not saying _anything_."

"You can do stuff, with your mind, Michael. You can—there are things you can do, just by thinking about it."

"Well, yeah."

"I've been thinking about that. I've been thinking about it a lot, actually. And today," Alex says with a hitched breath as he half-turns to look at Michael without really even seeing him, "today I think I figured something out. Something that I thought was a possibility, and it all just… it all just clicked."

Michael lets his hands slap down by his sides. "What?"

"I think maybe it goes both ways. I think you're—I think, because of what you do, I think you're an empath, Michael. I think today _hit_ you, because you could maybe sense some of the feelings of the people who were kept there, in that place. I _think_; I don't know for sure. But I… I think that's something you do. And I _think_ that because you have this ability, that you—I think this outlook you have, where you'll do anything for anyone without even a thought for what it might cost you—I think some of it is tied to that."

Michael laughs, resting his hand on Alex's shoulder as he comes to stand beside him. "So, are you saying I'm only _nice_ because I feel things?"

Alex snaps a dishcloth at him, laughing. "Not at all. I'm _saying_, that I think you pick up on the emotions of others, who, for whatever reason, are suffering, or need help. And I think that makes you selfless. I think you can't tune that _suffering_ out. And I'm really sorry if that's the case, because I put you in a situation today where you had to feel that. I'm sorry, Michael."

Michael really has nothing to say to that, his own thoughts already whirring without Alex's input. "You got nothing to be sorry for. I chose to do that."

"For _me_."

"Well. _Yeah_."

Alex huffs in frustration. Michael doesn't know what that means. "Go rest. Take the night off of helping. Just… _stop_ helping, okay? You did so much today."

Michael laughs, and because there is this weird atmosphere between them that he needs a moment to rein in, he drops his forehead against the back of Alex's shoulder, quickly squeezing his waist. "Well. If that's the way it is, I'll leave you to do this. I'm gonna take a shower."

* * *

"It's been a long day," Alex says a little later, towelling his hair dry as he sits on the end of the couch after his shower. Michael hums in agreement, drying his hands on a dishtowel following cleaning up after the mess he's made preparing their breakfast for tomorrow.

Michael has no idea why, but earlier when they'd been getting their burgers, Alex decided he _had_ to have overnight oats for breakfast. So since he took the first shower, while Alex has been taking his turn, Michael has been preparing these oats for him. He's carefully spooned out oats, and yogurt, and the fruit he could find in that small grocery store he stopped in earlier. As he pokes at the concoction Michael is not entirely convinced the oats will be soft enough to eat by the morning, but hopes they will be. Alex nods at the two glasses he's filled since they didn't have anything else to put them in, watching as Michael slides them into the fridge.

"I was going to do those after my shower."

"It's fine," Michael says, waving the glasses at him, "I wanted to see how to put them together."

"How do they look?"

"You tell me. Never made them before," Michael replies, watching Alex stand back up and drape his towel over his shoulder, then pushing one of the glasses into his hand when he joins him.

"They look good. Thank you," Alex says as he hands the glass back to him after lifting it up to inspect.

Michael smiles, putting the glasses in the fridge and catching the way Alex looks him over as he stands. He really should have put a shirt on after his shower. Alex clears his throat when he catches himself looking as hard as he is and steps back, snatching his eyes away and returning the towel to the bathroom by propping himself up on the counters and walls as he moves.

"What are you listening to?" Alex asks, nodding to the tablet Michael has leaned up against a book on the kitchen counter.

"Some Spotify list, or something. Clicked on the first thing I could find for some background noise."

"Okay."

"You need me to turn it off?" Michael asks, surprised when he looks that Alex is sat on the edge of the couch again, putting his prosthetic back on.

Usually once they're in for the night he doesn't bother, happy to sit in a pair of shorts with his stump on display. Michael walks over to his closet pulling one of his last shirts out now that the laundry hamper is so full, still buttoning it when he walks back through.

"No," Alex replies resting his hands on his knees as he looks back at Michael.

"Are you… going somewhere?"

Alex shakes his head as he stands, nervousness flitting across his face as he licks his lips, walking towards him. "No."

Well, this isn't fair, Michael thinks, Alex looking at him like that, when his path is blocked and he has no escape. "Then, what?"

Alex clears his throat, nodding at the tablet. "Can you turn that up?"

Michael keeps his eyes on Alex and his hands in his back pockets so he can't _touch_, turning up the volume so the music fills the Airstream. Alex clears his throat again stepping closer, and Michael shakes his head in pleading. It's been a long day, he's still a little drained from that base earlier, and Alex is _so_ close; so soft-looking.

It really doesn't help when Alex stops in front of him, extending his hand, palm up.

"What are you doing, Alex?" Michael whispers because any louder and his voice will be croaking. Their closeness has been growing, but this, and tonight, it feels like all of his defenses are down and he can't let them be. Not yet. Not when there is still so much between them to work through.

"Did you know, that I haven't danced since… I can't even remember the last time I really danced. Long before the accident, some celebration thrown at one of the camps one night. That must be more than a year."

Michael wants to hold him so badly, his hands seem to jump from his back pockets and down by his sides without any conscious thought from him. "Alex—"

"Will you dance with me, Michael?" Alex asks softly, taking his hand to lead him into the largest floor space in the Airstream, closer to the couch.

"We—"

"I know," Alex says, and Michael sees that he knows, sees all that want and need and uncertainty reflected in his eyes that he feels. "I know, Michael."

Michael stumbles as Alex tugs him closer, swallowing away the dryness in his throat, one hand landing on Alex's waist. "Alex…"

"It's just a dance," Alex says, sweeping his hands up Michael's arms to rest them on his shoulders. He gives a flicker of a smile when Michael gives in, lifting his other hand to press into his side.

"Yeah," Michael croaks out moving a little closer, tugging Alex to him until they're pressed together.

It not just an _anything_. This closeness, the intimacy of what they're doing; it's taking all of Michael's resolve not to take even more. He savors the feel of Alex beneath his palms, pressed up against him, the soft smile he gives him when he's brave enough to look. Though not for too long; Michael splays one hand on Alex's lower back to keep him near, the other resting between his shoulder blades as Michael lets himself sag into Alex's embrace. He drops his forehead against his shoulder and sighs there, closing his eyes when Alex runs his hands over his back.

"See?" Alex whispers, softly knocking his head against Michael's. "Just dancing."

"You and me have never really done this."

"Well. You could argue that we've been _dancing_ for the past decade."

Michael smiles, resists the urge to press a kiss into his neck. "True."

"And there was that time in that motel when the TV got stuck on that channel," Alex adds, yanking Michael back with a memory of the two of them turning in a small, cramped circle at the foot of their bed. That wasn't exactly dancing, or at least, it hadn't stayed as dancing for long. Michael can't let his thoughts wander too far down that route so yanks them back, indulging in squeezing Alex a little tighter.

"It's good," Michael says, ignoring the way his voice comes out in a whine.

"Maybe this can be something we do."

"What?"

"Dancing?"

Michael straightens back up, adjusting his hands to loop low on Alex's back. Alex smiles as he does, resting his hands on Michael's shoulders. "We can, maybe. If you want, Alex."

"Maybe."

"Other people dance in their kitchens, I guess," Michael adds, a shot of laughter threatening to burst through him because how normal does that sound? How domestic? He and Alex in a random kitchen somewhere, _dancing_, just because they want to. Just because they can. Michael _wants_ that image to be reality, the ache of needing it to be a reality someday pricking tears in his eyes.

"They do," Alex agrees, oblivious to the turmoil in Michael. "And I know we're not really _those_ people—"

"We're our own people," Michael quickly says, having no idea what is happening with this conversation, or what is going on with Alex tonight. "We'll do things our way."

"Yes. We are. And we will."

"And you know, Alex. What you said earlier, about me _helping_. I wouldn't be doing anything—any of this—if I didn't want to."

Alex smiles, splaying his hands wider on his shoulders, and shifting just enough so that they're more pressed together again. "I know."

"You don't have to worry about me," Michael adds, because this is the only conclusion he can come to. That Alex feels responsible for him in a way. He doesn't mind, as such, but he'd prefer they were on an equal footing—with everything.

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because," Alex says, clearing his throat and giving a tiny smile that says he's not too sure of how his words might come across, "because you're mine to worry about. I hope so, anyway."

_Yes_, Michael wants to say, hoping he does with his eyes when he can't get any words out.

"And besides," Alex adds, looking at him now with a smirk of teasing, "can you say you don't worry about _me_?"

Michael straightens up a little, fighting his answering smile. "Oh. That's different."

"How?" Alex asks with exactly the smile on his face that Michael expects to see.

"Because."

"Because, what?"

"I don't need to explain myself," Michael says, pretending to be indignant. Alex just laughs and hugs him close again, still moving them in time to the music, which Michael does not recognize but hopes will play for hours more.

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

"Anything else you want washing?" Michael asks as he collects the last of the laundry that needs to be done. The hamper is pretty full but not too heavy to carry, though there is no way he's walking anywhere with it for how bulky it is. Michael intends to take the truck the few blocks he needs to drive to the laundromat; perhaps he can pick up some food for tonight while he waits.

Alex pauses from writing, turning around to kneel up on the couch, reaching for a sweater that's got tucked behind some pillows. "Maybe this?"

Michael holds the hamper out, nodding. "Throw it in."

"I'll come with," Alex adds, yawning and stretching as he stands.

"You sure?"

"Well. You did say we should take the morning, and I've been working anyway. I can come to keep you company, at least?"

"Sure," Michael says, pleased that Alex wants to. They'd danced last night until Alex's leg had ached, Alex insisting on going to bed the moment they shut off the music so Michael wouldn't _fuss_. Which was only partly true. By the time Michael was murmuring in Alex's ear that they should probably stop, his hands were bunched in the back of Alex's shirt, and Alex's fingers were splayed beneath _his_. Michael had fallen asleep replaying the brief seconds when Alex's lips had grazed over his neck. Any longer _dancing_ together would have probably led them to a point they wouldn't have easily come back from. They both know it, which is why this morning has been awkward with stilted conversation and uncertain smiles. The overnight oats were a success, however; Michael wants to buy more fruit and yogurt today to make them again.

"We don't need to go anywhere today," Alex says as they leave and Michael locks up.

"No?"

"Let's stay here tonight. Set off again tomorrow. Take the rest of the day since I kind of ruined that this morning."

"You didn't," Michael says as they climb in the truck, starting the engine immediately for wanting to keep them busy, and moving.

"I worked."

"I read. Looked into some _tutoring_ stuff since you mentioned it last night."

"You don't need to do anything I—"

"I know I didn't _need_ to. But I was curious," Michael replies, keeping his eye out for the laundromat.

"Anything interesting?" Alex asks, sounding both curious and hesitant.

Michael is surprised by how many tutoring opportunities there could be for him considering he has no formal qualifications. He's not sure if he really wants to, or if he'd even like to try it out, but a part of him is glad that Alex suggested it. "Not sure yet. I'll keep reading."

"Only if it's something you think is good for you."

"I know," Michael agrees, "I know you weren't trying to force me, or anything."

"Like I could," Alex teases, and just like that, they're back to that easy teasing and flirting as though the awkwardness of this morning never even happened.

Michael doesn't really mean to be looking out the laundromat window looking for Alex when he's longer getting magazines than he is expecting him to be. His mind is sort of drifting, cataloging everything they've seen and done on the road, while going over all the things Alex said to him last night. In fact, his last few conversations with Alex play on repeat for Michael whether he thinks about them or not. So perhaps it is those words that turn his head towards the window, helping Michael seek Alex out across the street. Where he is _talking_ to someone.

Alex _knows_ this person. Michael can tell purely from his body language that he knows them _well_. He fights with the tendrils of jealousy threatening to swell in him, telling himself not to overreact. Which is difficult; Michael convinces himself he can see Alex's face, and that he is _smiling_, wide and warm. It _guts_ him that someone else can make Alex smile like that, and then hits him harder that he would ever be selfish to deny Alex any opportunity to smile.

Whatever they are talking about is taking its time. There is laughter, and smiles, and even, Michael thinks, an exchange of numbers. Michael checks their washing in the machine three times—which is nothing at all to do with getting closer to the window to continue watching this conversation—before Alex _hugs_ this person, _tight_, waving and watching as they say goodbye.

Michael is _busy_ when Alex comes back into the laundromat, loading their clothes into a dryer. He doesn't say anything once he's set it to start, sitting down beside Alex with a tight smile.

"I know I said we'd take the rest of the day..."

Michael keeps his eyes on his fingers wringing in his lap without answering, on edge anyway but now even more so because of Alex's apologetic tone.

"But I have somewhere I need to check out this afternoon," Alex continues, nudging his thigh against Michael's when he doesn't speak. When Michael does look up Alex smiles at him, handing over the rolled up magazines Michael has forgotten he went out for in the first place.

"You need me to wait in the Airstream?" Michael asks as he unrolls them, smiling at the familiar titles.

"That's up to you. I think I'd prefer you to be with me."

Michael raises his gaze again, receiving another small smile. "Then I'll come with."

"I know it must be pretty boring for you—"

"I'll come with," Michael repeats. If Alex wants him there, wherever it is, then he'll be there. Even if right now he's more interested in who Alex has just been speaking to.

"Okay. Thank you."

"Where are we headed?"

"I just ran into someone, who gave me an idea of another place I want to check out here before we leave Montana," Alex says, half-gesturing towards the laundromat door.

"Oh?" Michael says, attempting to keep his voice level, as Alex licks his lips as though taking the time to think about what best to say.

"Joe. We worked together on a few projects on my second and third tour."

"You were close?"

"Similar family situations," Alex replies with a soft smile, "we had a lot to talk about."

"I guess."

"I'd forgotten he was from Montana," Alex adds, then shakes his head like he's not wanting to get side-tracked. "Anyway. There is a military hospital he mentioned, that I think maybe had some links to that base we went to yesterday. I want to go."

"So, what would you be looking for? Records, or something?" Michael asks. What are they supposed to do, just walk into a hospital and start snooping around? Ask them to hand things over?

"The same as everywhere else," Alex says, shrugging, "in that, I'm not sure. There might be nothing—it might be better if there's nothing."

"Alex. Don't you think it's a little strange that you're getting to check all these old bases, without anyone disturbing you, or following you, or something?"

"Not really," Alex says, shrugging dismissively again. "These are all old places there shouldn't have been any military activity in for a while. No one should be at any of them. Aside from tomorrow, obviously."

"Any _legal_ activity, you mean," Michael retorts. "If that place we went to yesterday really did have people being _detained_, that's not _a while_ ago."

"Michael," Alex says softly, almost apologetically, "those detainments aren't new. They aren't only recent—"

"But that place _felt_ recent," Michael says, a twist in his gut for feeling all the anguish from those who had been in those bunk rooms. "I know it sounds stupid—"

"It doesn't," Alex says quickly, "not at all. It's just surprising that you can _tell_. How long, I mean."

"I can't know for sure. I can't put a timeframe to this, or anything. I don't know; it was just a gut feeling." Michael pushes back all the impressions of fear and confusion that then threaten to grip him again, standing up to check the dryer.

"The hospital won't be like that," Alex says when Michael joins him again.

"So we're just gonna walk in there?"

Alex winces, screwing up his face in apology, turning in his seat. "Actually, I thought maybe you could… help?"

Of course he'll _help_, if Alex needs him to. "What do you need?"

"You can unlock doors, right?"

"Obviously."

"How about… taking out security cameras?"

"I can do that too," Michael agrees, storing this all up for later. There is going to be a moment when he gets to tease the hell of out Alex for this. For Alex asking for help to do something illegal.

"Perfect," Alex says, with obvious relief. "So, my plan is for us to go. I'll find a floor plan, or whatever I can so I know where might be good to look—"

"You hacking into the hospital's system, or something?"

Alex shrugs, and _grins_ at him. Michael tells himself he shouldn't be so _excited_ by the glee on Alex's face. There shouldn't be any part of this that is making his jeans just a little tighter than necessary. Michael tries to tell himself it's an overreaction purely because it's _been_ a while, and that having Alex so close is doing things to him. That dancing last night comes back to him again, and Michael has to stand up, unnecessarily check the dryer once more.

"So. Is that okay?" Alex asks when Michael has composed himself enough to come back. He pats Michael's leg since he stands rather than sits beside him, and Michael is hit with the urge to nudge his knee between Alex's, stand there between his thighs. Which obviously he _can't_.

"Well," Michael says with as much blustering swagger as he can muster to distract himself from all the things he _wishes_ he could be doing right now, "if you buy me lunch, I'll think about it."

Alex nods, smiling as he pats his leg again, which doesn't help. "I already found the perfect place."

"You did?"

"When I was buying these," Alex says, patting the magazines on the seat beside him.

"Okay?"

"As soon as we're done here. With our laundry." Alex looks pleased with himself. This must be good.

"So. Where are we going?"

Alex stands, licking his lips as he looks at Michael which is really no help at all; not with _that_ look on his face. He's too close, and Michael has no resistance left in him. Well, he does, but it's _almost_ gone. Maybe what he should be doing right now is heading back to the Airstream for a shower. A really cold one.

"Maybe a block in that direction?" Alex says, nodding towards the window. "There is a pancake house."

Michael grins helplessly for how pleased Alex looks with himself. "Seriously?"

"I seem to remember that the last time we went to a pancake house, you ate half the menu."

Michael remembers it well. He'd eaten so much he'd thought he might explode, using Alex as a pillow when they'd gone back to their motel room to sleep it off. That whole weekend is one of Michael's favorite memories of Alex coming home. "I like pancakes."

"I know you do," Alex agrees with a really, _really_ smug look on his face. He hesitates before reaching out, resting his hands against Michael's chest, then quickly letting them fall down by his sides.

"I like pancakes a _lot_."

"I remember."

"You aren't worried I'll eat so many I'll be too sleepy to help you out with this hospital thing?"

"I'll make it worth your while if you don't," Alex replies, with a glance over Michael that fires a blast of heat through his core.

This is too much.

"_Alex_," Michael whispers through half-gritted teeth, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. He knows he's giving mixed signals with his half-voiced protest by holding Alex by the waist as he does.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be."

"We should go for lunch," Alex says, his voice coming out strangled, awkwardly patting Michael's chest.

Michael nods before spinning back to watch the dryer, once again trying to keep himself busy.

* * *

The hospital is small. Michael isn't really sure what he was expecting, but this small, squat building isn't it.

"Do you need to be closer to the building to take out the cameras?" Alex asks as they park on the street adjacent to the hospital.

Michael nods towards the camera they can see from where they're sat. "Already done."

"Seriously?"

"Well, _that_ one," Michael says, not preening at all for how impressed Alex sounds. "If there are others, it'll be simple enough."

"Okay," Alex says, turning in his seat and pulling his laptop from the backseat. Michael watches him quickly typing, repeatedly glancing up at the hospital as he does.

"What are you doing?"

"Sending them something to keep people occupied with the computer system, to hopefully buy us some time," Alex replies, studying his screen for a moment then nodding as though satisfied with his efforts. He turns to look at Michael as he pushes the laptop beneath his seat out of sight. "Are you sure you want to come with me?"

Michael only shrugs. "Are you serious about going in here?"

"I want to try."

"You're not worried about getting into trouble?"

"What's the worst they can do?"

Michael huffs for how unfazed Alex is by all of this. "You'd know better than me."

Alex smiles and pushes his door open, starting to climb out of the truck. "I guess we'll find out."

"You have a plan?"

"Not really."

Michael really doesn't like this but says nothing, walking behind Alex as he scopes their surroundings. There is one back door behind eight-foot fencing that Michael wouldn't be surprised to find electrified. It isn't, thankfully, which Michael finds out when Alex kicks his foot against it as he continues to look around.

"So, maybe if we can take out any other security cameras outside, then we can scale the fence, get back there," Alex says, gesturing at the door.

"You're not expecting security or something inside? If it's cameras, I can deal with that. If it's _people_, I will if I need to."

"Joe said this place isn't even really guarded," Alex replies, looking back at Michael in expectation.

"Joe would know this because…?"

"He came here for some treatment."

"And you just, what. Said you were looking for something, wanted to have a look around, but couldn't tell him what it was for? Or does he know?" Michael asks, indignant at the thought that this _Joe_ might have more information than he currently does. _Joe_ has come into this whole thing out of nowhere, and Michael doesn't like that feeling of having another person he's just supposed to trust.

"No," Alex says, gesturing for them to start walking towards the front of the hospital building. "I didn't even tell him I was here for anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I told him I was traveling. Taking some time off after leaving the Air Force," Alex tells him, pulling Michael back when he sees a camera.

Michael takes the camera out with ease. "So, he gave you the idea of coming here, how?"

"He said he'd been here for some treatment. That base you and I went to is pretty infamous around here—for some of us, anyway—for being somewhere people were detained. Apparently, this is the only military hospital around here that would have served that particular base. There were rumors of detainees being brought here when their guards were a little… _rough_."

Michael bunches his hands up in fists for the images that paints for him, scowling as he looks around. "Well, okay then."

"We'll go in, I'll check for any records—"

"Don't records just get kept digitally these days?"

"Not if they're the kinds of records no one wants tracing," Alex replies as they continue checking for cameras. Michael takes out three more in total before they get back to the point they started from.

"Like, illegally detained immigrants?"

"Like anyone they don't want people to find," Alex tells him, his jaw clenched as they look up at the fence. "You think you can climb this?"

Michael checks the fence over and shrugs. "Sure. I've climbed worse."

Alex of course is over in seconds, far more graceful than Michael could ever hope to be. He tugs down his shirt when he lands for how it's ridden up, clearing his throat for the way Alex grins at him.

"It's all those pancakes," Michael says in defense, patting his stomach, which really doesn't enjoy him scaling fences when so full.

"They were good pancakes."

"They were," Michael agrees, thinking of how many platefuls he'd had, and how a much better thing for them to be doing right now would involve a nap back in the Airstream.

"So. Can you get us in there?" Alex asks, nodding at the door.

Michael opens the lock in seconds, reaching out to shove the door open with the heel of his hand. "After you."

The hospital isn't much of a hospital at all. Michael expects wards, medical supplies, even nurses to round the corner ordering them out. It's just as sterile and cold as that base they went to, which is probably more like what he should have been imagining. It makes Michael feel a little less fearful of all the trouble they could possibly run into, yet he still keeps his eyes out for more cameras and his shoulders squared ready to do whatever he needs to.

The hall they walk down echoes with their footsteps, Michael discreetly unlocking doors as they pass. Alex seems to have a target in mind; Michael had seen him looking over a floor plan when he'd returned from the bathroom in the pancake house, so assumes he's committed a route—and room—to memory.

"You planning on just—"

Alex silences Michael with a look, nodding forward drawing his attention to the sound of footsteps around the corner. He steps to the side, quietly opening the nearest door and gesturing for Michael to follow him in. It's a storage closet, with cleaning supplies and stationery all wedged in together. The floor space is tiny, Michael fighting with a mop to keep it upright as those footsteps pass outside.

When neither of them can hear anyone they creep back out, Alex gesturing a little further up the hall. He nods at another door, Michael quickly releasing its lock so they can slip inside. This is the room Alex must have been intending to find, stacked floor to ceiling with boxes that, when Alex takes the lid off one, reveal a number of paper files.

"These are detainee records?" Michael whispers, using the light on his phone to help Alex see so they don't need to put on the overhead light.

"I don't know," Alex says, pulling out one file and beginning to look through. "But like you said, everything is digital now. All of these would have been scanned on if they were legal, and if they aren't legal, well. What are they even doing here?"

"Don't they have to keep records for a number of years anyway?"

"In theory."

"So…?"

"These aren't military-issued files," Alex says, tapping the file cover. It's a red and white hanging file, the same as all the others in the boxes. Michael has no idea what a military file is supposed to look like so takes Alex's word for it.

"Okay?"

"These are medical files," Alex adds, mostly to himself as he looks through.

"For?"

"I don't know."

"There aren't names?"

"There are names blacked out," Alex says, turning a page for Michael to see.

"Well that's… weird, right? But you'd expect medical files in a hospital, wouldn't you?"

"You would," Alex agrees, still mostly talking to himself as he flicks through.

"Anything in there look bad?"

"Nothing," Alex says as he pushes the file back into the box he'd pulled it from, opening the lid of another and drawing out a second file. As he looks through, Michael sees nothing different from the first, and nothing that stands out to him at all.

"No?"

"These just look like general records. Vaccines, blood types, former injuries, and operations."

"Well. I guess that's good?"

"Why would they black the names out?" Alex asks, frowning as he looks up.

"Confidentiality?"

"But how would they identify people with these files? Or retrieve this information with these files? There aren't codes, or numbers, or anything assigned."

"Well—"

Michael watches as Alex starts digging through file after file, unable to help because he has no idea what Alex is expecting to see. Alex looks frantic, flicking faster and faster through the pages, being less careful with each file he puts back. Michael tidies up after him, reading through one file as its contents fall to the floor. Beneath the blacked-out name there are basic details; sex, age, height, weight. There are no nationalities, so Alex's fear that these might be files from detained immigrants could be valid, or not; Michael can't tell.

"Alex. What are you looking for, exactly?"

"I have no idea," Alex replies as he looks up at him, sighing. He glances around the room, with Michael trying to help by shining his phone around.

"Well. We can check every room here if you want."

"I don't know how long we can without being noticed."

"The cameras are out. And you said yourself, there aren't many guards."

"I know," Alex says, "but it's still a military place. There are still—we still need to be careful."

Michael snorts; it isn't as though he hasn't been thinking that exact same thing ever since Alex suggested coming here—in fact, ever since the first base they went to. "Well. What are we going to do? Are you taking these files with us, or something?"

"We can't."

"You want to take pictures of the pages?" Michael suggests, waving his phone.

Alex nods, and together they snap the contents of one file, quickly tidying the boxes up again.

"So? What are we doing now, Alex?" Michael says when the room looks as close to how they found it as possible.

"You don't feel anything off about here?"

"No?" Nothing feels weird to Michael; he tries reaching out with his thoughts and gets nothing in return but the usual background noise he's used to, but doesn't think too much about.

"So that feeling you had yesterday. You don't feel it here?" Alex asks, stepping closer.

"No. Nothing. Honestly. Everything feels _normal_. As normal as a place like this is gonna feel to the likes of me, anyway."

Alex gives him a look Michael can't interpret, then gestures to say they should make their way out.

"So," Michael says as they climb into the truck just minutes later. "We just slipped into a military hospital—and so many bases these past few weeks—and we've had _no_ one interrupt us, or ask questions, or chase us out."

"Why would we?" Alex asks as he turns the truck out into the road with a final glance over the hospital before driving away.

"Doesn't it all feel too easy to you?"

"Michael. I wouldn't be taking you anywhere that I thought you were at risk."

"I don't care about if I'm at risk or not, Alex. I can bluff my way out of anything."

Alex makes a noise that says he doesn't agree, though quickly turns his focus back to the road for them coming up to a junction.

"I was more worried about you," Michael says once they've turned out.

"Why?"

"Ex-military snooping around places he's got no reason to be in anymore? Who do you think is gonna be impacted by that more; you, or me?"

"I would take me getting into trouble over anyone getting anywhere near you, Michael," Alex says, turning to look at him with the most serious expression on his face.

"Because?"

"You. Max. Isobel. You think I trust _anyone_ from the military now, when it comes to you?"

Michael smiles, not really knowing what to say. "Well. We're both okay, so, it's all good, right?"

"I need to go through those pictures we took."

"And you're hoping to let someone know these people are—how can you report anything you're suspecting with these _detainees_, if there aren't even any names on file?"

Alex's face sets into that _soldier_ look that Michael has become accustomed to. "That isn't really on my agenda here. Though, of course, if I find something concrete I can do anything with, I'll report it in any way I have to."

_Agenda_? Michael doesn't know what to make of that, or understand why that word leaves him feeling so cold.

"Right. So we… we keep breaking into all these places. And you keep saying you're looking for something, but you won't ever say what. Yesterday, I thought I'd figured it out when you said about these detainees. And now you're saying they're not on your agenda?" Michael says, trying not to let his voice rise with the frustration he's feeling.

Alex doesn't answer him, continuing to drive with his eyes forward, not even glancing in Michael's direction.

"How much of all this is on _Corazon's_ agenda, Alex?"

"Not much."

"Not much?" Michael repeats.

"I told you. Some of my work, what I'm doing here, is private. Some of it _is_ Corazon—"

"But this, all this breaking into bases, that isn't?"

"A couple have been related, but no. Mostly it's on me."

Michael throws his head back against the headrest, sighing in frustration. "You know. This would be far easier if you told me what all this _private_ stuff is that you're doing."

"Wouldn't be very _private_ if I did," Alex retorts, his expression softening a touch.

"Alex—"

Michael's question is interrupted by Alex's phone buzzing, Michael biting back yet more frustration as Alex shoots him an apologetic look and reaches into his back pocket for it.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your [survey](https://forms.gle/Mb3GCZs86FU28f5q8)!


	18. Chapter 18

"Joe."

Acid boils in Michael's stomach for hearing Alex say the name, even when he tells himself there is no reason for it. He turns his head to look out the window in an effort to give Alex what privacy he can, but since Alex doesn't like driving and using his phone at the same time, _Joe_ is put on speakerphone anyway.

"Hey, Alex. You still around?" Joe asks, friendly, and warm, and giving Michael no reason to be pulling the faces that he is. Internally, of course.

"Uh. I could be?"

"I didn't know how long you were in Montana for," Joe says, leaving Michael wanting to know more about exactly what Alex has told this person.

Alex clears his throat. "I'm not sure yet."

"Well. If you're still here at least tonight, you wanna go for a beer, or something?"

"Well—"

"Both of you; I meant bring Michael too," Joe adds, which has Michael snap his head around in surprise. Alex notices his reaction, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

"He's right here," Alex says, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Oh. Hi Michael."

Michael narrows his eyes at the friendly tone but tells himself to smile easier. "Uh. Hi. Joe, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Joe replies, sounding pleased. "What do you say, Michael? Feel like a beer before you head off wherever you're headed next?"

Alex turns his head giving Michael a look that says, _what do you think?_ Michael has so many questions, but doesn't think he's going to have time to ask.

"Sure?"

"Great. Alex, I'll text you the address of a place; you fussed what kind of place it is?"

"So long as there's beer, no; not at all."

"Great," Joe says again. "So maybe… when do you want to do this?"

Again Alex makes eye contact, to which Michael just shrugs. "Any time you like."

"Okay. Well, how about now, then?"

"Sure," Michael says when Alex nods for him to answer.

"Okay, great. I'll see you both soon."

The phone goes silent, and just seconds later is buzzing with a text.

"Do you want to check that? Give me directions?" Alex asks, nodding at his phone.

"Joe knows I'm here with you?" Michael says as he pulls the phone from its holder, checking the texted address.

"Yes."

"I don't need to know anything?"

"Like what?"

"Like, do I have a story?" Micheal says, earning himself a raised eyebrow as he puts the phone back in its holder, checking the street they're on and pointing for Alex to keep driving straight ahead.

"A story?"

"Am I pretending to be a colleague, or a—"

"What? No," Alex says, laughing and looking at him in incredulity. "You're just _you_; you just need to be _you_, Michael."

"Well. Okay, Alex."

"He knows about you," Alex tells him, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel as he rolls his neck a little.

"He does?"

"Yes."

"How does he know about me?" Michael asks, curious, confused, and more than anything, cautious. Or maybe the question should be, _what_ does he know? If he has to put on a certain act, Michael wants to know what his angle is _now_.

Alex turns to smile at him wistfully, which does even stranger things to Michael's stomach. "He knows about you, because I told him about you."

"...today?"

"No," Alex says, laughing again, "years ago. He knows what you are to me."

What the hell is Michael supposed to do with _that_?

"It'll be fine," Alex adds, reaching across the seat to squeeze Michael's hand, which doesn't help in the slightest. Michael tugs on his fingers to keep hold of Alex a little longer, then squeezes to tell him to let go.

* * *

_Joe_, Michael reluctantly admits, seems like a good guy. He shook his hand in greeting after hugging Alex, pointing them over to a table and ordering them beers before they'd even sat. They've only been here about half an hour, but Michael is almost offended by how at ease he feels in this new company. He's not felt the need to keep his guard up, or act like anything but himself. It's unnerving, really.

Joe and Alex talk back and forth so easily, forever including Michael in the conversation with ease. Nothing seems off topic either; there are stories and anecdotes about Alex's time in the Air Force that Michael hasn't heard before, some that he intends to bring up again later for the way Alex screws up his face in embarrassment.

Even when their talk gets a little technical for Michael for all the acronyms and abbreviations they use to talk about their work, either Alex or Joe quickly reiterates whatever it is they're saying, making sure that Michael understands. It isn't condescending, neither one of them talking to him as anything but an equal. If anything, Alex seems to have sung his praises to Joe in the past, painted a far better picture of Michael than he thinks he deserves.

"Alex always did say there wasn't a thing you couldn't fix," Joe says after they've talked about a piece of equipment that had broken down during an operation that Michael _thinks_ is supposed to be classified for how vague the details of it Alex gives.

"Well. I don't know about that."

"A school bus. More RVs than I can count. Four cars, some plumbing in a motel. Not to mention what he's done for our Airstream," Alex says with pride in his voice as he smiles at Michael with such affection, Michael feels a little like a deer in headlights.

"I barely remember to put oil in my car," Joe says, laughing.

"Then you're the exact kind of person who keeps me in business; keep at it," Michael retorts, earning himself a salute.

"He's also still the smartest person I know," Alex adds, all but beaming at him. "Knows anything, about everything."

"I do _not_."

"He reads science magazines _for fun_," Alex tells Joe, nodding his head at Michael. "And it's not that he reads them so much, as that he calls out all these _corrections_ for them. These theories on quantum physics, and mathematical principles I've never even heard of, Michael knows more about than some of these people who write those articles."

"That's—"

"And he _still_ can't take a compliment," Alex adds, shaking his head in fond exasperation.

"Something you have in common," Joe replies, swiftly changing course in their conversation right back to more anecdotes about Alex, which Michael appreciates more than he can say.

"He's a good guy," Alex says softly when Joe excuses himself to use the bathroom.

Michael toys with the bowl of nuts on their table, absently putting one into his mouth. "Yeah. He seems it."

"He was one of the first people I really confided in about anything," Alex adds, his expression becoming wistful again as he hooks a finger into the bowl to drag it closer. "I'm glad I ran into him."

"Me too," Michael agrees, happy to see Alex so at ease, and happy to know he's had at least one person to turn to in all these years. That he's even mentioned _him_ in the past, to anyone, is something Michael is going to take a little while to process, however.

"Are you doing okay?" Alex asks softly then, leaning into him a little. Michael wants him closer still.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"I hope you didn't feel pressured into tonight; I didn't mean to spring this on you, or anything," Alex adds, scooping up some of the nuts and chewing them as he first glances around the bar, then looks back at Michael.

"No, I know."

"I promise I'll try to make it that we'll have a quieter day tomorrow," Alex adds, working at the label on his beer bottle as he so often does.

"It wasn't that bad today."

"I kept you busy this afternoon."

"Alex," Michael says, leaning in so their shoulders are touching, "I didn't mind."

Alex pats his leg, then squeezes, taking his time to draw his fingers back. That he's so freely touching him in full view of this bar—and _Joe_—gives Michael a lot to think about.

They stay for another hour, Michael waving away a third beer so that Alex can keep drinking and he can drive them back. Though he does accept their bowl of bar snacks being topped up and works through them as they talk. That hour passes just as easily, Michael sure he has _never_ been this at ease in shared company with Alex. Even when Alex leaves him to go to the bathroom Michael doesn't feel awkward for being left alone with Joe.

"So. Any idea where you're going next?" Joe asks as they wait for Alex to return.

"I leave that up to Alex."

"He's doing okay with his leg?"

"Yeah. Alex is doing great," Michael replies, forever proud of him, and happy that it's something he doesn't have to hide.

"When I heard about it, I feared the worst," Joe adds, the easy smile he's worn almost the entire time they've been here slipping a touch.

"Me too," Michael agrees, reliving the fear that had frozen him for the rumors reaching Roswell that Alex had been killed. He'd not slept for three days for not knowing what happened, out of his mind with worry. Seeing Alex for the first time face to face after his accident stood outside his Airstream was confirmation that it had even happened. Michael remembers pretending that all the letters he and Alex had exchanged while he'd been in the hospital were their usual correspondence, not just something else for Alex to focus on while in recovery.

"That must have been pretty hard for you."

"Yeah. It was."

"I know that Alex—that you and Alex—things were… _strained_ between you at times," Joe adds with a soft look and a quick glance in the direction of the bathroom.

"Yeah," Michael agrees as though that isn't the biggest understatement he's ever heard.

"He missed you something awful. And I know," Joe says, holding his hands up in defense, "none of this is any of my business. But I'm… I'm really happy to see you here with him. I'm really glad that… I'm glad that he's doing okay. And that he has you."

"Yeah. He does," Michael says with a warmth settling in his chest that makes him _like_ this Joe a little more.

When Alex comes back to their table, he rests a hand on Michael's shoulder as he slips into his seat, needing the leverage since _he_ moved his chair so much closer to Michael's leaving barely any gap in between. And because Michael is feeling so _soft_ for Joe's words, he reaches for him without thinking, gripping Alex by the waist to guide him down.

Immediately, Michael freezes, years of Alex withdrawing from him like he's horrified by the thought of someone seeing them together firmly lodged in his mind. Alex only smiles at him, knocks his forehead against Michael's shoulder, moving enough so he can rest his hand on his lower back as they continue speaking to Joe.

* * *

It occurs to Michael when they arrive back outside the Airstream that tonight is probably the first time he and Alex have been out together in public—where they were _meant_ to be out together—and Alex hasn't found excuses for why they've run in to one another. Where neither of them has found an excuse for why they're in the same place at the same time. It puts a dip in his mood that he tries to outrun by charging into the Airstream first, saying that he needs the bathroom.

Alex is rooting around in a kitchen cupboard when he comes back out. "We should eat something."

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really," Alex replies as he drops his hands to curl around the edge of the counter. "I think I'm still full from pancakes. I need something though."

Michael wraps a hand around Alex's waist as he reaches up in the cupboard, pulling out several bags. "Well. We have chips, nuts, some of those Thai cracker things you like so much."

"Anything sweet?"

"Yoghurt for your oats—which we should make now, if we're having the same tomorrow."

"I'll make them," Alex says, nodding to the bags on the counter and passing Michael some bowls.

"Oh. There are those Twix things. The little snack bite things."

Alex finds the bag in the cupboard and eats two before passing that to Michael as well. Michael fills several bowls, precariously carrying them over to the table.

"You want more beer?"

"Sure," Alex agrees, passing him two bottles from the fridge.

Michael kicks off his boots and stretches out on the couch, letting his head fall back against it.

"Was you okay with us seeing Joe tonight?" Alex calls across the Airstream as he prepares their oats, Michael watching him sneaking berries into his mouth every time he puts a handful in their glasses.

"Yeah. Seems like a good guy."

"He is," Alex agrees. "He's been a good friend at times, and a great… _colleague_, I guess. You know, he builds computers up from scratch, putting them together from scraps that everyone else has given up on."

"Sounds like something you could do," Michael replies.

"Or you. You could do that. You could do pretty much anything at all."

"Are we back to me _bettering_ myself, Alex?" Michael asks in tease, unfazed by the thought of Alex nudging him in any direction.

"We're back to, _you should be doing things for you_."

"What if this is all I want to do for myself?" Michael asks with a vague wave around him.

"Follow me around the country fixing things as we go?"

"Not everyone is meant for _greatness_, you know," Michael points out as Alex joins him, watching him shrugging out of his jeans not even bothering to hide himself from him. Michael then watches him remove his prosthetic and massage over his stump, waiting for him to answer.

"If you'd have gone to UNM, you would have done something involving engineering, right?"

"That was the plan."

Alex nods, picking up three Twix bites that he lines up on the table in front of him, reaching out again and popping a handful of Thai crackers into his mouth.

"I couldn't do it, you know?" Michael continues when Alex just keeps on eating. "Not with Iz—"

"I know," Alex agrees. "But what would you have done after? More studying?"

"I'd have maybe done a Masters, or PhD, or something. I don't know what in, but I always liked the idea of research. Figuring out how things work, making things work; that kind of thing. Helping other people understand stuff, maybe."

Michael has only allowed himself a few occasions to daydream about what might have been if he'd pursued any kind of career in academia. There are idle moments when he wonders if he'd be teaching by now, or what projects he could have been a part of. He realizes then that Alex's questioning about him perhaps _tutoring_ aren't really all that out of nowhere. Alex is probably the only person in the world who knows Michael would get a kick out of teaching.

"You'd be great at it."

"What?

"Anything."

Michael laughs, shaking his head for Alex's bias. "Well. I guess anything's possible. You're not doing anything _you_ thought you'd be doing when we were kids."

"Maybe making music was just some whimsical dream."

"You were good."

"You were better," Alex argues; Michael scoops up a mixture of snacks to keep his mouth busy since he's still under Alex's proud gaze. What's he got to be proud of him for?

"I haven't really played in a while. I was going to, but, it just didn't happen."

"Chasing after me probably got in the way of that."

"And I'd do it again, a hundred times over," Michael replies, fixing Alex with a look that freezes _him_ in place for once. Alex licks his lips as he watches him, taking his time to drag his eyes away.

"We can sleep in tomorrow, if you want," Alex says when he speaks again, still carefully looking away. "I have some work I need to do in the morning, but it's nothing urgent. Nothing I need to do early, anyway. I need to make some calls. To Corazon."

"Okay."

"I have to provide an update on some coding we used to gain access to a system," Alex adds, taking a sip of his beer. "Some of what I do is almost like virtual safe-cracking. I have websites, databases, and so on that I have to try to hack into, to test how secure they really are. This one I need to call about in the morning had seven points of breach that… let's just say, it could cause a lot of trouble for those involved if they aren't fixed."

"And will you… offer your services fixing these breaches?" Michael asks, interested and wanting to know more, while also grateful that Alex is at least sharing some details.

"That depends on what the client wants to do. I'll report back to Corazon with recommendations—it'll be a conference call with the client—and we'll take it from there."

"So. I should definitely be elsewhere for that, right?"

Alex screws up his face and nods. "I think so."

"So. I'll go make myself busy."

"Michael—"

"It's fine," Michael says, waving away whatever Alex is going to say. "I'll take a walk, explore a little. Maybe go sit somewhere, read for a while."

"Take the tablet," Alex says looking across the room to where Michael has left it on his bed.

"I will. I'll see where tomorrow takes me. Maybe I'll see if anything needs fixing around here in the park."

"Take a day off," Alex says softly, taking another handful of snacks. "You're always busy."

"Says you."

"Yes, says me," Alex replies, lifting his leg to nudge his foot against Michael's thigh. "Just take the morning for yourself, at least."

"Like I keep trying to get you to do?"

Alex only shrugs, pushing the bowl of nuts closer to Michael. Michael clasps his hand around Alex's shin to keep him from drawing his leg back.

"You want to watch something?" Alex asks, waving towards the end of the couch where he's left his laptop.

"Not really?"

"So. What do you want to do?"

Michael wants to do a _lot_ of things, though most of all right now, all he wants to do is sit here with Alex, do nothing at all. "Just talk to me."

"About?"

Michael looks over to his bed bringing the tablet whizzing softly through the air between them, finding another playlist to have on in the background. "Anything you want, Alex."

* * *

Michael finds himself in a cafe corner with a giant mug of coffee and a slice of cake he snaps a picture of to tease Alex with. Alex's message telling him to _bring some home_ makes Michael smile when he reads it, wiping the crumbs from his mouth as he answers before going back to scrolling through his tablet.

Alex put the thought in his head, though as Michael looks into course upon course at the universities in Roswell, he feels like the idea of him _studying_ has been one brewing in his mind for a while. He even knows that the scholarship he'd been offered so long ago he could do _something_ with if he takes some courses, does a little wrangling, asks enough of the right questions to get him where he wants.

In the past when he's researched these things it's always been a whimsical pipe dream, something to focus on when he's not been missing Alex, or existing in his life with no direction to follow. Now, though, with his head clearer than he thinks it has been in years, the possibility of actually studying is an exciting one. Michael thinks he wants it, though doesn't know if he can convince himself to do it. He pauses from reading through one of the course descriptions, trying to picture himself in an alternate life.

Procrastinating since the reality of opening an application for an online degree for electronics engineering is a little too much, Michael opens the page of free MIT courses that he's been working his way through over the years, sticking in headphones to listen to a lecture on network and computer security which is little to do with him, and everything to do with listening to Alex last night. Alex clearly loves his work, which is something that brings Michael such relief for seeing, he's happy to sit in silence just listening to him talk; even if he doesn't have much to contribute. He might now, if he works through the courses he's bookmarked, ignoring the voice in his head repeating Alex's words that he should do something for _himself_.

The lecture is interesting. Michael makes notes on his phone with questions he intends to ask Alex later, checking the time to see only a couple of hours have passed. He stretches in his far-too-comfortable armchair and stands, wanting to give Alex at least a little more time for not knowing how long these _phone calls_ he's making are going to take. Alex hasn't messaged to say he's finished either, so Michael orders himself another coffee, takes a moment to look out the window at what is happening, then returns to his chair.

His thoughts turn to how he and Alex are getting closer, getting to a point where it's almost impossible not to close the gap between them. Dragging himself from the couch and over to his own bed last night was torture for Michael, made worse by Alex tugging on his shirt sleeve when Michael turned away from helping him make his bed and wrapping him up in a hug. These hugs are both the best parts of Michael's days and the most difficult ones, for trying to hold back and trying not to think about how easy it would be to just give in.

To procrastinate from thinking about _that_, Michael returns to his MIT lectures, and when that isn't enough to distract him he goes back to the tab with the application form still open. He can fit in the lectures easily wherever he is, whether they're still on the road by the time the course opens or if he's back in Roswell still working at Sander's yard. The course detail already has his interest for imagining all the things he might learn or have a better understanding of. He's even let his imagination get away from him by looking up a Master's program which would be years down the line if it ever happens. Michael finds himself filling in some of his details, saving the page he's on, then sending messages to both Isobel and Max to distract himself.

"Hey, Michael."

Michael laughs for Max calling him almost instantly, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from him.

"Max."

"How's it going?"

"Pretty good," Michael says, clicking between the tabs he has open on his tablet before locking the screen and sitting back. "You got a light day at work or something?"

It's Max's turn to laugh. Michael can picture him at his desk, sure he hears the scuffle of him toying with whatever is to hand. Pens, Post-Its, the strange desk toys Isobel likes to buy him from her various travels for work just for how much it frustrates him; Max likes a _tidy_ desk.

"Yeah. You could say that, Michael. It's all calm here. Not had anyone in my cells for days."

"And there was me hoping someone was keeping my seat warm."

"So, where are you now? Still in Montana?"

"Yeah," Michael says looking out the window, glancing up at the sky wondering if it might rain.

"How long are you there for?"

"No idea."

Max hums half-under his breath, less patient with Alex not telling Michael anything than he is. "He's not said?"

"Nope. Pretty sure I'll know by the time I get back to the Airstream. Alex has a work call," Michael adds, because there is this thing between him and Max now. In fact, with Isobel too. Isobel practically squeals when she asks for _update reports_ about how things are going with Alex, while Max has taken on the role of overly protective big brother, cautious and mildly mistrustful, making comments about how Michael deserves better than he's getting from Alex.

"Still not telling you what he's doing?" Max says with _that_ tone. Michael would roll his eyes if he wasn't so amused, and also so _touched_ that Max has chosen now of all times to look out for him. Not that he hasn't in the past, of course, it's just that this distance seems to have been good for them. Checking in daily so Michael knows Max is recovering okay and not pushing himself so hard, while Max checks Michael is taking care of himself. It's _good_; Michael likes it a lot.

"Well. We talked a little about this project he's got going on, what he's calling about this morning."

"He gave you details?"

"No. I told you; most of this stuff's confidential. Security, or something."

Michael hasn't told him about all the bases Alex has been taking him to, and sneaking inside. He thinks Max might burst a blood vessel just for hearing about it; Roswell needs its electricity supply.

"I still don't get why he needs to travel around to do all this; whatever it is," Max says, sighing, and making Michael roll his eyes.

"Because. He wants to travel. _We're_ traveling. We talked about this all the time; pretty much like you and me used to," Michael points out. "You know, Max. It might surprise you, but there is a life outside of Roswell."

"You figured that out, what, a couple of months ago?" Max teases.

"I figured a lot of things out a couple of months ago," Michael points out.

"I guess you did. You doing okay? With everything?" Max asks, referring to every possible thing that could be on Michael's mind with just a few words. It's a shorthand he doesn't have with anyone else, something he thought he and Max had lost over the years. He's glad to have it back.

"Yeah. Everything's good; if you can believe it, I'm actually right this minute looking at online courses."

"I believe it," Max replies, with unmistakable pride in his voice. "You could do anything you wanted to, Michael."

"That's what Alex says," Michael replies, stretching against the table, then taking a sip of his coffee for forgetting he'd ordered another.

"Oh, so you're considering it because _he's_ telling you to, when Isobel and me have been telling you this for _years_?"

It amuses Michael that, for all their conversations recently about him and Alex, Max still struggles to actually use his name, never says it out loud.

"It's a lot of things. And it's nothing definite. I'm just looking into it."

"You'd be great."

"Yeah, yeah."

"He treating you okay?" Max asks, and Michael really doesn't know what to do with his tone. He's stopped trying to explain that he was the one who hurt _Alex_, because every time he does Max reminds him of all things Alex has done to hurt him—which he wouldn't even know about had he not shared the details of them with him in the first place. Though it's nice to have someone to confide in, Michael's realized, and it's comforting to know without question that Max has got his back, no matter what.

"Yeah. He is. We're good."

Max makes another suspicious sound that isn't quite a word, though then Michael hears a voice in the background and knows Max needs to get back to work.

"Listen, Michael—"

"It's fine," Michael says quickly, "just checking in."

"We miss you. I miss you," Max says with such sincerity Michael doesn't know how to respond.

"Yeah. I miss you too."

"Take care out there, okay? Keep me posted with whatever?"

"I will."

Michael keeps the phone pressed to his ear waiting for Max to end the call, then drains his coffee despite it being a little cold. He checks his phone for messages, quickly replying to Isobel's and receiving one from Alex while he's writing.

_Would you mind if we set off again today? _Michael reads, a little surprised. He's not sure why he'd thought they'd be spending longer here in Montana, and if he's honest, a part of him really doesn't want to be moving on yet again. He realizes that the thought of a couple of days to just breathe a little had already lodged itself in his mind, so he shakes his head to clear it, turning off his tablet since he's almost out of battery.

_No_, he writes back, followed by, _want me to pick up lunch?_

_Yes please. Then we can eat and leave straight away._

Michael groans, just a little, for the thought of moving again quite that soon. But he shakes that feeling off as well and writes back, _what do you feel like for lunch? And where are we going?_

Michael pushes his chair beneath the table and returns the mug to the counter waiting for Alex's reply, hovering near so he can join the queue.

_Surprise me. And Minnesota. We'll drive for half of it today, stop somewhere overnight, set off again in the morning._

Michael sags for the thought of it, then scolds himself. Alex needs to do this, whatever he's doing.

_Okay_, he writes back, _I'll be back soon_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your [survey](https://forms.gle/GuwWwVuJsyYAACou7).


	19. Chapter 19

"Are you okay?"

Michael doesn't mean to wince for the sound of Alex's voice. But the truck has been so quiet since they set off from Montana, that even the softest of spoken words seem far too loud. Michael's gaze has been out the window and his thoughts elsewhere; far away from here, or anywhere, really. It even takes Michael a moment to really register that Alex has talked.

"Yeah," he says, sitting up better for slipping so far in his seat, clearing his throat when he does. Though he doesn't have anything he wants to say. Michael is a little lost in his own head, replaying their drinks with Joe, his conversation with Max, and all those study ideas he's been toying with. He's still here, same old Michael, sat in the same old truck with the love of his life who's been loving him and hurting him in equal measure for more than a decade. But his perception of their past is shifting. Michael can't unravel the strangeness he feels for someone _knowing_ about him and Alex from the thoughts he's trying to have of a possible future for himself. Maybe for them both. And that he's even _contemplating_ the future—

"You're sure?" Alex asks, and out of nowhere, it grates on Michael's nerves.

"_Yeah_, Alex."

"Okay," Alex replies, of course sounding confused for being snapped at. Michael rolls his eyes as he turns to scowl out the window since this mood isn't Alex's fault. Or perhaps in part is; Michael toys with the thought, tests it, then throws it away with every other word he's felt the need to discard. Which has been lots of them these past few days. Weeks, really.

Alex seems to take the hint that he's not in the mood for talking, because he doesn't try to talk to Michael again for at least a few miles. And even then, it's obvious to Michael that he's preparing to talk to him. He braces for it, fingers curled in fists down by his sides.

"Thank you for lunch. That cake was good."

"Yeah. It was."

Part of Michael screams at himself to stop being so snippy, and another part yells for him to say what's on his mind. But since he's not quite ready to get his words in order—and isn't, if he's honest, sure which of the things on his mind needs to come out first—all he does is grow more furious with himself. And a little more at Alex.

"Did something happen this morning?" Alex asks, and when Michael looks, guilt threatens to make an appearance. He chokes it back down by choosing from any number of occasions Alex has hurt him to dwell on, then shakes his head, leaning for the bottle of water he has in the truck door.

"Nope. You want?" he asks, gesturing with the bottle to Alex.

Alex takes the bottle, takes a sip, and then if Michael didn't know better, tries to snag his finger when he passes it back. Michael snatches the bottle back without thinking, sighing and mumbling an apology after taking a drink himself; not that he's sure what the apology is for, exactly.

Alex is silent again, this time for a little longer. Though Michael can feel him repeatedly looking at him, and grows more irritated for trying to ignore it. When he finally snaps his head around to look back at him Alex looks so surprised for being glared at, that there is no way for Michael's guilt not to work its way out. He offers a contrite smile, still fearing his words might come out in a harsh blast.

"Michael. What happened?" Alex asks softly, and of course, reaches out to pat his leg.

Michael knocks his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. And because he can't help himself, slots his fingers through Alex's.

"Nothing."

"Something happened," Alex says, running his thumb over the back of Michael's. "Everything was okay this morning."

"Yeah. It was," Michael agrees, "I just… I thought we'd be staying in Montana for long, is all."

"You wanted to stay in Montana?" Alex says after a beat, surprise in his voice that Michael argues with himself is _not_ irritating.

"Not particularly, no. But we—I guess I wasn't thinking we'd be moving on so quickly. I guess I—I had it in my head we'd be staying longer than we did. Really didn't expect to be leaving today."

"But that's what we've been doing," Alex says after a pause, nervously licking his lips.

"Yeah. I _know_."

"And I wasn't planning on us going anywhere today," Alex adds, making it worse for sounding as though he's defending himself. "I just heard about a place and—"

"Yeah, I get it," Michael says before Alex can trip over his words for not wanting to tell him anything. It will only make him madder to hear it, so he does what he can to avoid himself blowing up.

"But I did say that we should do things _you_ wanted as well if we had time," Alex says then, now looking as though he's annoyed at himself.

Yeah, you _did_, Michael wants to say, but doesn't. What would be the point? There isn't anything he's actually wanted to do, far too eager to follow Alex without question. But Max's suspicion has unleashed something in him that he's been ignoring, and instead of them having some time apart so he can stew over it in peace, they're stuck in the confines of this truck together going wherever the hell they're off to now. "It's fine."

"No. It's not; not if you're feeling like this," Alex says, squeezing his hand again. "I'm sorry, okay? I just had a—let's get to this next place, and check it out, and then we'll go wherever you want."

Michael purses his lips together but says nothing. There _isn't_ anywhere he wants to go. He doesn't know what he wants, and because he doesn't really trust himself to talk, he only holds on to Alex's hand, keeping his gaze out the window without really seeing a single thing.

Alex continues to drive while casting not-so-furtive glances in his direction. Michael pretends he doesn't notice. Though then a fresh well of frustration wells up at him, and Michael feels like he can't _not_ talk.

"So this place you want us to get to. Where is it?" he asks, concentrating on the feel of Alex's hand in his. His touch is usually so soothing, though with this misplaced anger he's feeling right now, it's like he's holding a grenade that's about to go off at any moment.

"Minnesota."

"Right. But where?"

"It's an old base they used to use for language training for the Air Force. Language and intelligence; it was a central hub a lot of communication went through during World War Two, and then Vietnam. Some other minor conflicts too, later, though it's been out of commission for about twenty years now."

"What is it you're looking for there?" Michael asks, since Alex hasn't hesitated in answering this question. He might as well push at least a little.

"Records. Accounts. Documents."

"That you think people have just been leaving lying around?"

Alex's eyes narrow, still keeping his focus on the road. He takes his time to answer, though eventually does. "The military isn't perfect, Michael. None of it; Air Force, Army, Navy. There are good people serving, and there are also people that aren't anywhere near good. People who are bullies, who are vindictive, and cruel; people in it for their own personal gain. People who would think nothing of stepping on others to get what, and where they want."

"Right," Michael says when he doesn't continue. "What's that got to do with record-keeping?"

"There are paper trails for these things."

"What things?"

"People abusing power."

Michael knows when a subject is being changed on him. He knows deception and subterfuge, and worst of all, knows exactly how it sounds on Alex. He's had _years_ of practice. "I'm not saying none of that isn't true, but that's _not_ what you're wanting to go to this place for. Is it?"

Alex's jaw clenches as he slowly withdraws his hand from Michael's lap. And out of nowhere, Max's words come back to Michael, anger spiking in him that he doesn't even try to control.

"So. Max called," he says, shifting in his seat for needing to be out of the truck but knowing they aren't stopping anywhere soon. He feels _caged_ with this mood he's in.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"How's he doing?" Alex asks, with a smile in his voice that _should_ be comforting. "Is he taking it easy being back at work?"

"Not that I can imagine," Michael replies, irked that Alex is being so _polite_. Though why shouldn't he be? He's never really spoken to either Isobel or Max for more than a few minutes at a time; at least, not to _his_ knowledge. Politeness for people Alex doesn't know is nothing out of the ordinary behavior from him. It shouldn't be the latest in a series of buttons Alex has succeeded in pushing for Michael during this drive, without even knowing he's doing any of it.

"I hope he's not being too hard on himself."

"Yeah. So, Max knows. About us," Michael says, studying Alex's expression waiting for a flinch, or grimace, or any slight change that will piss him off. There's nothing, only a soft smile when Alex looks at him, which is somehow worse.

"I imagine you had to tell them something when you left to come find me."

"Yeah, Alex. I did."

"They must have some opinions," Alex says, giving him a pinched, sorrowful smile.

"You could say that."

"Like what?" Alex prompts when Michael doesn't continue.

"Well. Honestly, Alex? Isobel's just checking in every day to see where we're at, and if I'm doing okay. Which is _good_; I didn't think they would."

"Of course they would," Alex says in surprise. Michael shouldn't be annoyed for it.

"And Max, he's… well. Let's just say he's more pissed off than _I_ am, that we're traveling all over the place and you're not telling me a damn thing about what we're doing out here."

There is a single second when Michael wishes he could take back his words. But for the weight that's now off his chest, he's glad that he can't. He watches Alex smooth and slide his hands over the steering wheel adjusting his grip, turning his gaze away again when Alex turns the truck off the road and cuts the engine.

"Michael—"

"If you tell me again you can't tell me everything, Alex, I'm gonna get out, and start walking. I don't even care where I end up."

Alex closes his eyes, taking his time to open them again, then taking several long breaths before he speaks. "The reason we haven't run into anyone so far, is that none of these places are supposed to even _exist_."

"That tells me nothing, Alex," Michael says, his voice rising in frustration. "That's—"

"It's more than you should know."

"Well, that's just great. We're going to places that don't exist, but clearly did something at some point—"

"Most of the places that were used were old military bases—"

"Yeah. I _get_ that, Alex. I have _eyes_. But used for _what_? _What_ aren't you telling me? What are you _looking_ for, that's making—"

"Do you trust me, Michael?" Alex asks, with tears in his eyes. This isn't _fair_. And Michael once again can't trust how his words are going to come out. He doesn't ever want to be the one who upsets Alex. But how much more of this is he supposed to just accept in silence?

"This isn't about trust, Alex. Don't try to make this about that; you know it isn't."

"But if I tell you I'm keeping this from you for your own safety—"

"If that were true, you wouldn't even be taking me with you," Michael retorts, even if his mind is now racing for what it is Alex is apparently keeping him safe from.

Alex drops his head forward, sagging in his seat. "You're right. I shouldn't be taking you with me."

"But—"

"But I'm too _selfish_ to do anything to keep you away," Alex adds, his face crumpling when he looks up, which is the last thing Michael wants to see.

"Alex…"

Alex topples forward, dropping his head into Michael's neck, clinging on to him as though he's afraid he'll disappear. Michael sighs, resting his head against Alex's and moving enough so he can get his arms around him, all his anger draining away.

"I _want_ you with me," Alex whispers, holding on to him tighter still, fingers bunching up in his shirt.

"Well. I'm not going anywhere, am I? You have the keys anyway; I can't."

Michael thinks Alex tries to laugh, but it doesn't come out as much more than fresh tears.

"You constantly keeping me in the dark about what you're doing; it's not good for me. It's not good for _us_," Michael adds surprising himself that he can even say as much out loud.

"Michael—"

"If you were some… secret spy, or something, or even when you've done who knows what for code-breaking, or military stuff, or whatever in the past; I've not been right here with you when any of that's happened. I know you've probably had to deal with some things no one should have to deal with. And I get you've probably got a _lot_ of secrets in that head of yours," Michael adds with a soft jab of a finger at his forehead, which Alex closes his eyes for, and smiles after. "But I'm right here, Alex. I'm here with you for whatever you're doing. And when I don't know what any of that is—"

"Do you want to go home?" Alex says as he pulls back, clinging on to his arms. He's trying to prepare himself for it, Michael thinks in wonder he watches his face; Alex is worrying that's he's about to leave _him_.

"I think we pretty much established that _you're_ my home," Michael retorts, still a little snappy, so softening the sting of his words by cupping Alex's face, stroking a thumb over his cheek. "Which is not a lot to show for my life, is it? But sums me up perfectly."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, before getting a kiss to his palm, which shouldn't fire the burst of confusion it does through Michael. How can he want so much, and be so angry with Alex, and want to comfort him all at the same time?

"You were right, Alex," Michael says when he's ordered his thoughts enough to get them out, "I _don't_ have anything for myself. I _don't_ wake up in the morning thinking, well, Michael, what do _you_ want to do today? I just do it; whatever I need to do, to get through the day."

"You deserve more than that, Michael," Alex says softly, taking his hand again, pulling it into his lap so he can play with his fingers.

"I don't know if I really believe that yet, or feel it? But I _think_, that us traveling like this and you not telling me anything, when we're _supposed_ to be… I think we're supposed to be working out how we fix things between us? I don't think those two things can work together. I can't separate feeling like you're hiding stuff from me for _work stuff_, and your _agenda_, or whatever, from you maybe keeping things back from me about _us_."

"But—"

"And realizing there are people out there in the world that _do_ know about you and me, like Joe," Michael adds, squeezing Alex's hand so he knows to let him continue speaking, "it's really… I feel like I'm off balance. Like I don't know what is, or isn't real, or true anymore, you know? About us."

Alex goes to answer, but the sound of a horn behind them has Michael looking out the window to find a police car and an _officer_ stood beside it looking a little too like Max standing there with his arms folded. Michael can feel his scowl from here. So he gestures for Alex to start the engine again, Alex waving out the window in apology as they rejoin the traffic.

Once they've driven a couple of miles, Alex clears his throat, and takes Michael's hand again to hold in his lap.

"There are about… besides Joe, I think there are maybe three other people that I've served with at some point that know about you," Alex says, his jaw working as though he's having trouble getting his words out.

"Well. That is a surprise."

Michael feels the ground shifting beneath him yet again. Even if he doesn't know what it is these people know.

"I didn't really trust all that many people to talk to about anything," Alex adds, frowning. "And for something like _this_; I didn't know if I should trust anyone at all. If I _could_ trust anyone."

"You make me sound like I'm something toxic, Alex," Michael says without thinking. "Like I'm something volatile, or explosive. Something to be ashamed of, or something."

Michael has felt that Alex is ashamed of him for years. And while it's been hinted at throughout this _trip_ they're taking, he's just never managed to admit that to him out loud.

Alex's frown deepens, and from the way he looks around them, Michael thinks they might pull over again. But they don't, Alex only speeding up a little as though he needs them to get where they're going as quickly as possible.

"The only thing I'm _ashamed_ of, in relation to you—actually, it's two things," Alex says then, correcting himself, "and neither of them is really anything to do with you."

Michael stays silent, not knowing what to think, or feel.

"I'm ashamed that I let what happen to you, because of _me_, happen. I am. I relive that _shed_ over and over, like it's… all I can see is you rushing to protect me, and me standing there letting him _hurt_ you, and I…"

Alex's words trail away, as he looks increasingly furious with himself. Michael only holds his hand, wondering if this is what Alex has been waiting for too; if Alex's own words have been stuck for so long that it's a relief to let them out.

"I'm ashamed of everything related to my father when it comes to you," Alex continues. "I'm ashamed that the morning after that _shed_, I let him threaten to hurt you even more. I let him convince me it was _my_ fault you got hurt, and that he'd do it to you again without hesitating. And _worse_. And that I'd be the one causing it. Which, it was—"

"No, it really wasn't, Alex," Michael says, "that was all on him."

"But I could have _stopped_ him," Alex says, agony creeping into his voice telling Michael he's replaying that moment right now. "I could have stood up to him like you did, and I—"

"We were kids, Alex. We shouldn't have had to stand up to anyone like that." Michael can see that now, can appreciate that he once _was_ a kid, one who never should have carried the world on his shoulders just so he could feel like he fit somewhere. He's got a long way to go before he'll ever see himself even close to through Alex's eyes, but it's a start. It's enough to be able to look at what happened with him and Alex, and his _father_, and know what happened was _not_ their fault.

"And I told no one about you, because I didn't want it to get back to _him_," Alex adds, still toying with his fingers. "People talk, and gossip, a _lot_. Everyone I came into contact—almost everyone—had this… unwavering respect for _Jesse Manes_. He's a good soldier, Michael; for everything he's terrible at, he is good at _that_. He's earned that respect. But he's not a good man. He's not a good _leader_, or father. And he's… I didn't want to talk about you, to have anything to get back to him. I could never be sure if someone being friendly was one of his _recruits_, to keep an eye on me."

"Recruits?" Michael asks, another picture forming for him of Alex's military life beyond having to prove himself, separate himself from his father and brothers. It's not a good one, for seeing Alex's support network even smaller than he's ever imagined.

Alex smiles, though it's not much more than a grimace. "Did you know my dad tried to recruit _Kyle_?"

"Into what?"

"Reporting back to him with anyone coming into the hospital that might have any connection with Project Shepherd."

Michael's simmering fury for Kyle flares up enough for him to scowl, which Alex notices, and smiles for.

"He came to me pretty much straight away to tell me. Kyle and I had a lot to talk about with—well. You know. But he's really tried to make amends for all of that. And he's been nothing but open with me about my dad trying to get him to, I guess, spy for him."

"Well. That's good, I guess," Michael says, but doesn't really mean. He's not ready to forgive Kyle for _anything_, even if Alex is, and already has.

"But that was what it was like for _years_ when I was serving," Alex says, frustration replacing anything else in his voice. "My dad is a manipulative asshole who would basically blackmail people to get them to do his bidding. I never knew who to trust. I never knew what to say."

Now Michael imagines Alex's life in the military to be even colder than he'd already pictured, and hates Jesse Manes even more for it, which shouldn't be possible. They drive in silence while he processes this information, and Alex recovers from getting it out.

"Mostly, I didn't tell many people about you, because I was ashamed of what _I_ was doing to you," Alex says eventually, tucking Michael's thumb beneath his against his thigh.

"What do you mean?"

"You _know_, Michael."

He does, but he wants to hear it, so doesn't say anything. Alex sits so rigidly, Michael finds himself straightening up as well.

"Me, keeping us being together secret, in my pathetic attempt to keep my dad from finding out; me still being afraid of what kind of hold he had over me, for what he might do for you. I just… I'm ashamed, Michael, because I know I hurt you over and over by doing that. Sometimes all I can see is your face when I've walked away from you, and I… I _hate_ that I did that to you. I didn't want people to know that I was such a coward. That I could do that to someone."

"Alex…"

"I was _never_ ashamed of you. Never. Not once. I should've… I should have made that clear. I should have done so many things differently," Alex says with fresh tension in his posture that makes Michael think he might cramp up while driving.

They drive in silence again, as Michael processes everything Alex has been telling him, and Alex adjusts to being free of all those words. Michael isn't aware of much besides the feel of Alex's hand in his, surprised when Alex turns off the highway.

"I need a break," Alex says when he looks at him. "We've been driving for four hours; my leg's stiff."

"You want me to take over?" Michael asks as they pull into a gas station, thinking how grateful he'll be to stretch his legs.

"Yes, please."

"We'll get some coffee, or something, before we head off again?"

"Of course."

Michael is surprised that when they climb out of the truck, the first thing Alex does is come around his side of it to hug him. It isn't even a discreet hug, one that others stopping at the gas station might suspect is between friends. Alex is pressed against him in a way that is anything but friendly, his face tucked into his neck and his thumb beneath Michael's shirt for how it's rucked up.

Michael smiles for it, nudges his head against Alex's, and is surprised again when Alex takes his hand when they pull apart. They walk together as they look for a bathroom to use, and then after for coffee, still holding hands when they've paid for their gas after filling up. Have they ever held hands to go anywhere? Michael doesn't think so. So he relishes in it, even if it confuses him, even if stood on this gas station forecourt in the middle of nowhere holding Alex's hand, he's not really sure what it means.

When they climb back into the truck, Alex uses his forever-present laptop bag to prop his leg up a little.

"Still hurting?"

"Just stiff. It'll be fine. Thank you for taking over driving," Alex adds as he shifts to get comfortable.

"So. Where are we headed now?" Michael asks as he begins to drive out of the gas station.

"I think if we make it another three hours or something, then stop for the night. We don't have to go there, but Miles City looked like maybe a good halfway point. We can set off whenever you want."

"You're still wanting to get there quickly, this base of yours?" Michael says, careful as he rejoins the traffic for a car swerving in front of him.

"I think that would be better, yes."

"Then, we'll head out in the morning."

"Are you sure?"

"This is important to you, whatever it is," Michael says, still frustrated that he doesn't know anything, yet in a far better mood than earlier.

"Once we've been to this next base. If everything's okay there, and you still want to know. I'll tell you," Alex says, even if he sounds like it's the last thing he wants. He looks so _nervous_; it's a strange kind of nervousness Michael has no idea what to make of. So he only nods, keeping his attention on the road.

"That'd be good, Alex."

"Would you mind if I slept a little?" Alex asks then, already settling back in his seat, though first tucking his hand back into Michael's.

Michael can't tell if Alex is really tired, or if he's just trying to avoid talking. So he shrugs in answer, watching Alex out the corner of his eye, smiling when he falls asleep in minutes. He _wishes_ sleep came as easily as that for him.

With no one to talk to, and only his own thoughts for company, Michael replays Alex's words as he drives. He tries to shift and fix all the pictures he has in his head of Alex, and _them_, keeping an eye out for signs for Miles City as he does.

* * *

"Are you ready to go?"

Michael tugs on his boots, hopping as he loses his balance, smiling when Alex holds a hand out to steady him. They'd both decided on a change of clothes after another long day of driving, though what Michael wouldn't give for them just to curl up here in the Airstream for a little while.

"Yeah," he says anyway, squeezing Alex's hand back.

They spent last night in an RV park in Miles City as Alex had suggested, with Alex insisting on making them dinner; even if that dinner consisted of a mishmash of leftovers from the previous couple of nights. Their _discussion_ in the car yesterday has led to good things, Michael hopes, because in the ten or so hours of driving they've done today, complete with a couple of stops for coffee, a new sense of ease has come to the way they talk to one another. They've spoken freely and honestly about moments they've shared together in the past, even reminiscing over some of Alex's visits with a new softness for Michael not reliving so many of his _exits_ through quite so pain-filled eyes. It's been good for them, Michael thinks, and those breaks they've taken on the road have come with more of that hand-holding. Michael still feels a little unsteady for all these changes, all this openness, but he's embracing them all now with a far more open heart.

"Are you sure you want to come with me?" Alex asks, lightly gripping Michael by the waist.

All that _talking_ has mostly avoided anything to do with Alex' _work_, or _agenda_, but they did talk a lot last night about whether or not Michael should even be going with him to these places. Michael is adamant he will since he's not sure what Alex might need protecting from, while Alex is fairly adamant Michael should stay behind for his own safety. Michael has won the argument, it seems, for Alex not really resisting, even looking hopeful that he'll come along, which is counterintuitive. Michael won't question it, only nods then tilts his head towards the door.

"Let's do this."

Alex drives them to the base, which by Michael's reckoning is only about twenty minutes or so from where they've parked up with the Airstream. The base is flat, and sprawling, concrete and steel behind metal chain fencing that he estimates to be ten, or even twelve feet high. All these places that Alex insists _aren't supposed to exist_ are fairly prominent, and _present_. How has no one found these places, ransacked them, or squatted in them even?

"So why doesn't the military just tear these places down if they're not using them anymore? Or even repurpose them?" Michael asks as they come to a stop, with Alex doing his usual surveying their surroundings before even moving.

"Well. I guess because that costs money. Half of these places if they're not even really supposed to exist, the cost to demolish them; how do they hide that in a budget?"

"I suppose. Though why not just sell them back to the government, or however the whole thing works? Surely the government already knows about these places?"

"A lot of these are _owned_ by the government."

"Then, if they're not using them for anything, why not repurpose them? Think of all the homeless people who could have a safe, dry place to sleep at night if they did something with them, or… I don't know. Youth centers. Places for people to learn stuff, or sell stuff, or… anything. Instead of just leaving these things here like an eyesore."

"It is a really ugly building, isn't it," Alex says, laughing as he tilts his head to look.

"Maybe the worst so far."

"Do you want to open the gate for me?" Alex asks, nodding towards the thick chain securing the gate closed.

"You sure you're ready to go in?" Michael replies, for watching the way Alex is still looking around them.

"I think so."

"Am I coming inside?"

"Do you want me to?"

Alex sighs as he looks back at him. "I don't know what to do for the best. I don't like the idea of you sat out here like a target—"

"A _target_?" Michael repeats, also starting to look around them. They seem to be in the middle of nowhere, so he's fairly sure he'd spot someone approaching, even without Alex's military-trained eye.

"More like a sitting duck."

"Alex—"

"We're not supposed to be here. We're… even if we're not going inside, a truck sitting so obviously outside this gate could, if someone were looking—"

"_Who_, though? If these places are so abandoned, why would anyone be looking?"

"I don't know," Alex says, frustration raising his voice.

"Well. Then let's go in, get this over with."

Michael climbs out before Alex can say another word, already grabbing the chain he's unlocked with his thoughts before it can thud to the ground. No claxons sound, no lights flare into existence, so Michael tells himself no one is aware of their presence. Though both he and Alex wince as they push open the gate for how loudly it grates.

The door Alex heads for is stiff to open, Michael needing a couple of tries to get the lock mechanism to move for how rusted it is. The air inside is stale, as though at least this part of the building might have been untouched for those twenty years this _facility_ has apparently been closed. Their footfall echoes out around them making Michael feel claustrophobic, leading to him putting his head down as he walks forward as though that might make the space feel less small.

There are no bunk rooms here, no areas Michael could mistake for a gym, or shower blocks, or anything with a hint to life lived here at all. It's just room upon room of offices, and meeting rooms, a dust-covered canteen that manages to look even more sterile than anywhere else. Even the room Michael imagines must have been where the computers and other intelligence equipment was kept and used is empty, long-forgotten marks on desks where those computers once sat.

"So? These records you're looking for?" Michael says eventually, when he's watched Alex pace around what he's dubbed _the computer room_ with an increasingly pensive expression. "Where else can we look?"

Alex sighs, gesturing for Michael to follow. They walk down a hallway with small rooms to one side, and windows looking out over untamed grass on the other. Their footsteps still echo, and Michael is aware of how close Alex is walking; not in the sense that he wants to be near him, but that he wants to _shield_ him.

Nothing feels off about this place, in so far as Michael doesn't feel the echoes of any people. It's why he's sure no one really ever lived on this base, only used it for work; he can tell the difference, has learned the ways his senses curve and spike for either scenario. This place has no life held in its walls, and for that, despite what the building represents, Michael feels less on edge than he might do.

Though he is still surprised when Alex makes an abrupt turn bringing them to another heavy, stiff door that opens out on to what Michael can only describe as a courtyard. And he isn't expecting to watch Alex walk as though he's been in this place before, or studied its layouts, to scrape his foot against one of the tiles revealing a crevice in it.

"What's that?"

Alex crouches down and reaches in, looking up at Michael as he turns what looks like a circular steel door handle. The floor beneath their feet creaks, then sighs as a large square shudders scattering dirt and sand away as it lifts up.

"A bunker?" Michael says, not believing his eyes, or liking the look of the set of ladders that descend into the darkness of it.

"I saw this on a map. This part of the structure didn't look the same as the rest; I figured there must be something down here."

"Okay, one? How the hell did you find this on a map?" Michael asks as Alex secures a latch to keep the bunker door open. Already his throat is tightening at the thought of them becoming trapped in there, so Michael tests his powers by unlatching then relatching the door to reassure himself. He knows he can free them, at least.

"Training. Practice. Knowing where to look," Alex says as he watches him, smiling when Michael looks up.

"And two. How did you think to look here?"

"When we were with Joe, when we were talking about some of the places we had training, or worked with, or knew about. It jogged my memory."

"Of a super-secret bunker within a military base used for intelligence gathering?" Michael says in disbelief.

"Essentially."

Michael makes a noise that isn't quite a word, though Alex still knows to respond to it.

"We've both looked over places like this for our work. We know what to look for, where people might hide, or military secrets might be kept, or… all kinds of things. I just never really thought about seeing similar _here_ until Joe started talking about it. I started searching some maps while I was on that call to Corazon yesterday—"

"I'm thinking, _your_ maps aren't the kind of maps I'm gonna find on Google?"

"Exactly. And then I saw this place, saw this outline," Alex adds, gesturing at the bunker, "and wanted to check it out."

Michael wants to grab Alex's arm to stop him as he begins to climb down, though then is only racing to join him for how quickly he moves. He drags his phone from his pocket as he sees Alex lighting their way with the flashlight on his, casting the light over the walls in search of a light switch. The strip lights overhead buzz and blink into life the second Alex finds and flips the switch, revealing the depths of the bunker, and how far it goes back.

The bunker is one long room that Michael estimates to be about ten feet wide and tall, with one wall lined floor to ceiling with shelving, and the other with what looks like filing cabinets. The shelves are dusty, with a few still-sealed packs of what Michael thinks is a kind of uniform for its color. There are two boxes that, when Michael looks, are filled with nothing but recruitment flyers for the army, the kind he imagines must be handed out on campuses and army recruitment days. When they've walked the full length of the room, which can't be more than forty feet, they find little else on the shelves. Some old army radios, boxes of staples and paperclips, and a stack of empty notebooks, but nothing useful, nothing that seems of any use to Alex.

"You think maybe you can open these?" Alex asks as he tries to open one of the filing cabinet drawers finding it locked.

Several resounding clicks ring out as Michael unlocks several of the cabinets at once. Alex smiles in thanks pulling open one of the drawers to reveal it filled with thick, red and white files similar to those they saw back in Montana.

"I guess these are _military issue_ after all," Michael says, watching Alex pull one of the files out to open against the drawer so he can read through it.

To Michael, the contents of the file looks similar to those they saw in the military hospital. There are what he assumes blanked out names along with records of sex, age, height, and weight, the same as before. Though these files are so much _thicker_; his heart starts to race as he watches Alex turning the pages for catching glimpses of records of _experiments_, even photographs of operations, and details of medicines and other things that have been fed to these patients as though they are lab rats.

"What the hell is all this?" Michael hisses, his heart racing and his ears buzzing, feeling like he wants to tear down walls. Alex flicks the final page, a flat square object secured to it that he lifts up to inspect either side of.

"Oh…"

"_What_?"

"It's a _tissue_ sample," Alex says, opening up a second, third, and fourth file, finding the same contents. He looks back down the bunker room in horror at all the other filing cabinets that are still unopened. "They're records."

"Of?"

"You can _see_, Michael," Alex says, the distress in his voice making Michael's voice catch.

"I know what I can _see_," Michael tells him, "but like you said before. How can they use all these records to identify people if their names are blacked out?"

"They're not blacked out," Alex says, pulling his phone from his back pocket. "At least, I don't think they are."

"What do you mean?"

"Those pictures we took of the other files. I zoomed in on them, looking into the blacked-out sections. I couldn't see on the pictures, but I think it might just be a special kind of ink to disguise what's written there."

"So, how are you supposed to read it?" Michael asks, watching Alex searching through his phone. Alex glances at him then opens his phone camera, adjusting the settings. Michael looks at the file, then at the file through Alex's phone, and huffs in surprise, for seeing a number there; seven digits separated by hyphens into three, three, one.

"But that's—"

Alex shines the phone over the edge of the cabinet catching a three-digit number in its top left corner, making sure Michael has seen. Then he points the phone back at the files he has open to show the same three digits beginning each of the hidden numbers. They move to the next cabinet to find the same, and then the next, and the next one as well. The numbers on the corners of every cabinet match the beginnings of the numbers of their files inside.

"What are all these records for, Alex?" Michael asks with a growing sense of dread, sure he's about to understand something he really doesn't want to.

Alex opens his mouth to speak, only for the bunker lights to go out.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's your [survey](https://forms.gle/pRYxqXPDvTq6GY4T7)!


	20. Chapter 20

Michael grabs for Alex the same moment he reaches for him leaving them pressed tight together with the open drawer of a filing cabinet digging in his side. Alex squeezes, a gesture in the darkness that Michael knows means to keep quiet. His heart hammers in his chest as he strains his ear, and Michael can feel Alex's breath ghosting against his cheek for how close he is. The cold of the metal seeps into his skin as Michael tries to breathe quieter, braced for footsteps above, the hatch door slamming closed trapping them inside, secret panels in the walls sliding open and guns being trained on them in the dark. When nothing happens, Michael still won't move, still waits for Alex's judgment as the trained _soldier_. It is the tension dropping from Alex's body that eventually allows him to relax, catching hold of Alex's fingers as he unclenches them from his shirt.

"We're okay?" Michael asks, wincing as he adjusts to the light of Alex's phone.

"I think the bunker light must be on a timer," Alex tells him, squeezing his hand back before making his way back to the light switch, his smile relieved when they are once again bathed in light.

Michael keeps perfectly still when Alex gestures for him to, once again straining his ear for whatever is going on outside. He knows relief when Alex walks towards him in no particular hurry, helping him tidy files back into the cabinets.

"I'm taking one," Alex says, choosing a file at random that he then shoves into his bag. Michael doesn't question it, only locks the cabinets before taking a look around them making sure the bunker is as close to how they found it, thankful when they are then climbing out.

"So—"

"We'll talk when we get back," Alex says, soft and urgent; though not sounding as though he is attempting to delay their conversation. Michael's heart picks up its pace for Alex then pointing for them to make their way around the building instead of walking back through it, his entire posture screaming that he is on alert.

The truck has been trashed. Michael rushes towards it with ringing in his ears for finding all of the tires slashed and the windshield smashed, its glass scattered over the seats and interior. Michael is thankful that since getting their Airstream he's stopped stashing anything of any value in it, since when he opens the driver's door to peer in, it's obvious whoever did this has searched through every nook and crevice of it. He wants to think this is nothing more than an opportune thief, though for where they are, he can't quite trick himself into it.

Alex walks around the truck in fury, scowling in every direction over the ground as he does. "I thought I heard something."

Did he? Michael hadn't heard anything, and he always feels like he's on alert. "Well, yeah. I guess you did."

"Someone drove up, did this, then drove away again, for what?" Alex says, pointing to a faint tire track leading away.

"You sure that wasn't us coming in?"

"They turned around there," Alex says, pointing to a harder circular pattern in the dirt nearby that suggests a car spinning in a hurry to get away. Michael takes solace only in knowing from the shape of the print that the car's bearings are off, and at least one tire is almost out of tread.

"Well. I guess we're walking back," he says, looking around them, wondering how Alex's leg is going to fare for it.

"We can't just leave the truck here overnight, Micheal," Alex says, glancing up at the already dusky sky before following his gaze.

Michael moves closer to him, smiling for not missing at all the way Alex's gaze briefly drops to his mouth. Though now is clearly not the time for any of _that_. "You think I can just, what, pick it up and carry it with my brain?"

"Well, no."

"You got any signal on your phone?"

Michael watches Alex check his phone and scowl at it.

"No bars," Alex says, "you?"

"I don't know what's going on in that place, but my battery is completely drained. I don't think I even keep a cable in here anymore," Michael adds, hissing when he goes to search through the truck cab and in the process presses his palm into shards of glass on the seat.

"Let me look," Alex says, already taking his hand. Droplets of blood bloom up in three places. "I think it's clean, at least?"

"Nothing in that magic bag of yours for this?" Michael asks, nodding at the laptop bag at Alex's hip.

"Not even a band-aid."

"Well, that's helpful."

"How many miles do you think it is back to the Airstream?" Alex asks, carefully checking the small cuts on Michael's hand by pressing his thumbs either side of them. Michael winces when Alex works a tiny chunk of glass from one of them, flexing his hand to be sure there isn't any more in the other two.

"Eight? Ten?"

Michael continues to look around him for something to temporarily cover his hand with, Alex stepping closer and taking his hand to keep it palm up.

"You really think spilling _alien_ blood in a place like this is a good idea?" Alex says with a glance back at the building, confirming to Michael without saying it directly what those records might be inside.

"Well. I'd personally not mind not spilling my blood anywhere."

"This is _not_ a striptease," Alex says then, swinging his bag over his head to rest it against his leg, beginning to take off his shirt. Michael is _injured_, they've had a scare, they have a _lot_ of things to talk about, and Alex has just looked like he wanted to kiss him right here—with no thought for the location behind them; the _least_ Michael can do is allow himself to _look_.

"Spoil my fun."

"There's no music, for a start."

"I'll sing," Michael offers, and when he realizes what Alex is doing, adding, "hey, no. I like that one on you."

He really likes that shirt. It's a soft blue and white plaid one that Michael really thinks suits him, that he's caught himself watching Alex put on more than once. Which is purely to do with the _plaid_, of course, and how it looks; not him watching Alex dress.

Alex grins at him, though only drapes the shirt over the side of the truck before pulling his t-shirt over his head and passing it to him. Michael carefully winds the grey t-shirt—also a favorite—around his hand, very aware of all that skin now on display as Alex puts on then buttons his shirt back up.

"We should head back. Try calling a recovery truck as soon as we can," Alex says, glancing out at their horizon.

"Your leg going to be okay? I'm not fussing," Michael adds with his hands up in defense before Alex can complain. "The road just looked pretty uneven when we were driving in."

"Well. We need to get back somehow. I don't like the idea of either one of us staying behind with the truck."

"Okay. Then let's get going; quicker we get back, quicker we can deal with this."

Alex nods, and to Michael's surprise, the moment he has his bag adjusted across his chest again he takes his uninjured hand. "We never used to do stuff like this," Alex says when he catches Michael looking at their joined hands.

"No. I guess not. Though we still need to talk about what was going on back there; as good as _this_ is," Michael adds, running his thumb over the back of Alex's.

Alex's smile for him is wistful. "We will. I promise you, we will. Tonight. Let's just… get away from here, and get the truck back. Okay? Then you can decide what—we'll _talk_. We will."

Michael wants to believe him. He wants to trust that Alex won't find a way out of talking yet again. So he smiles back, nodding forward, beginning to tell Alex about the courses he's been looking over for not knowing which other subjects might be too volatile.

* * *

"How's your knee?" Michael asks when he returns to the Airstream balancing two large boxes of pizza in his arm so he can pull the door closed behind him. The recovery truck just dropped him off with the truck, Alex called the order in, and Michael ran out to pick it up so Alex could rest his leg. He's _starving_, just the smell of the pizza making Michael's stomach grumble in protest.

"Sore," Alex replies, raising his leg so he can inspect his knee and prod around the wound. He'd taken a tumble over a gravely stretch of road a couple of miles from the Airstream earlier, pitting gravel in his knee and even twisting it a little in the protest. It's his good leg as well, so it took twice as long for them to get back on that final stretch. Michael is sure Alex looks more exhausted than _he_ currently feels.

"Well. We've got enough food in," Michael says as he folds back the lids of both pizzas and sinks down opposite him. "We don't need to go anywhere tomorrow. And we have things to _talk_ about, so. You have time to rest it."

In the time he's been away from Alex, Michael has gone over several scenarios for what they've seen together in that bunker, putting it together with the details he already knows. He thinks he understands, though doesn't know the extent of it. He needs Alex to _talk_; to know for sure, and for Alex to be honest with him about what he's doing out here. This conversation he knows is going to be a catalyst for change between them. From Alex's reaction earlier, and the way his face falls now, even as he watches him take a grateful bite of his pizza, Michael can't help but think Alex is fearing the worst. From _him_.

"Yeah. I know."

"Not gonna change your mind on _talking_ to me, are you, Alex?" Michael asks, because he's been thinking about that too. He's thought of so many ways to begin this necessary conversation; there doesn't seem a right way to do it.

Michael knows he'll have a busy day tomorrow changing out all the truck tires and getting rid of that glass that he's sure has gotten everywhere in there. He's even more tired for the thought. Though as he eats his pizza with a huff of relief for just how hungry he is, all Michael really wants to do now is sleep and forget everything else. He's tired after a long day on the road and their time in the bunker, his hand is smarting with its cuts, and he's missed messages from Isobel and Max that he doesn't have the energy to return. And on top of that, when he checked his phone while waiting for their pizza, there was even a called from _Kyle_ that he should probably return but will leave until the morning to deal with. This conversation he's about to have with Alex is going to need all his focus, and will probably keep him awake half the night anyway.

Alex swings his leg back down from the couch, taking a second slice of pizza, and giving a slight shake of his bowed head. "No."

"Good."

"Though I did get a strange message from Kyle earlier," Alex adds, dragging his phone across the table after sucking pizza sauce from his finger and thumb.

"Saying what?"

"That he wanted me to tell him when I was free, but that he wanted you here when I did, so he'd know you were around?"

Michael checks his phone again in between bites of pizza, seeing a message as well as that missed call from Kyle that reads, _"let me know when you're with Alex so I can call him."_

"Did you tell him I was out somewhere?" Michael asks, already on his third pizza slice. He could probably eat this entire thing in about five minutes for how hungry he is. Though trying not to get pizza grease on his band-aids is slowing him down a little.

"Yeah," Alex says, "I even tried to call him."

"And?"

"He said it would wait until you were back."

The last thing Michael wants now is Kyle drama. He fights with his current pizza slice so it doesn't go everywhere, nodding for the napkins Alex shoves across the table towards him. "Well. Tomorrow, okay? We have enough to think about right now."

Alex nods, pushing out a hard, slow breath in that way Michael notices him doing sometimes when he has difficult things to say. "Yes."

They each eat another two slices in silence before Michael decides he can't wait any longer. He has to get Alex to talk about what's going on.

"What aren't you telling me, Alex? About all of this? About all these places we've been going?" Michael asks with his heart pounding in protest already, because there is too much hidden in Alex's eyes when he looks up for him not to be worrying.

"I'm just trying to do what's _right_."

"Oh, yeah? And what's _right_? What is it about all these old air bases and other places we're driving through pretty much every state to see? And all those records we saw today? Don't tell me all this is just to make sure these places are secure after being abandoned, because that's… it's not all. Don't tell me it is. Don't _lie_ to me, Alex. _Please_."

Now his rehearsed words have tumbled out of him and fallen over one another, Michael finds himself holding his breath as he waits for Alex to answer. He catches himself doing it, adjusting how he's standing as he stares back at him, watching Alex toy with the corner of his pizza box.

"You're right," Alex says, his shoulders squaring and his face slipping into a sterner mask. Though his eyes are still calling to Michael in pleading; Michael thinks he's begging him to understand, to at least hear him out. Which he _will_. But Alex isn't making this any easier for him by saying nothing.

"I'm right, _what_?"

"That there is more to all these bases that I've been visiting. That I'm looking for more than potential security risks, or unsecured weapons, or… any of the things I told you. There _is_ something else."

"What?"

Alex sags, closing his eyes, then pushes the pizza box closed and to the side before reaching for a stack of paperwork from beneath the couch. Michael recognizes some of it as the sheets he'd picked up in the Project Shepherd bunker, but there are others he hasn't seen before, along with print outs from the photos they took on Alex's phone at the Montana hospital. Alex rummages through the pile on his lap and stacks it with the file they just took from the bunker on the table, then opens his laptop, patting the seat beside him for Michael to join him.

"I know you'll be angry," Alex says when he sits, with a tone suggesting _he's_ been rehearsing words too. "You have every right to be angry. I should've told you about this before we even left—maybe before everything; even if I don't _know_ everything—I don't know. All I _do_ know, is that the reason I left Roswell in the first place was for this. Mostly. And that I really didn't know about the extent of all this until after you and I last talked. Back there, I mean. In Roswell. Before I left. I promise you that."

"Would you just… _tell_ me," Michael pleads, needing this over with. Needing to know how bad it's going to get.

Alex nods, looking straight across the Airstream as though the table isn't now covered in paperwork that Michael _knows_ is going to help tell him everything. "Well. I wasn't doing great after… all of _that_."

_That_ could mean so many things, though from the way Alex's jaw clenches, Michael assumes he must mean Maria. He's immediately angry for it but tries not to let that show.

"So," Alex says, clearing his throat, "when I was still dealing with _that_—"

"You can say her name, Alex," Michael says, because this is _weeks_ old now. Maria doesn't have a place in his heart like Alex does—nobody else ever will. Not saying her name, though, that isn't something that will get them anywhere.

"Fine. You're right," Alex says, "when I was _upset_ about the idea of you and Maria, I wasn't doing so well. I wasn't really in the mood for sleeping, or anything that meant I would have time to think. So I went to Project Shepherd, to look for more things, to look for—to find out anything else I could about Caulfield. Michael, I was trying to see if there were records—anything—about your mom."

Michael feels sick, acid boiling in his stomach and the urge to either lash out or run from what he's hearing leaving his ears ringing. He takes another slice of pizza instead and does neither, just stares at the stack of papers Alex is resting a hand over while waiting for him to talk.

"Well. Thank you for looking, I guess," he says in between bites when Alec doesn't immediately start speaking again, feeling like he might vibrate right out of his skin if he doesn't try to keep busy in some way.

"Michael," Alex says, closing his eyes again and drawing in a long breath. "My family, and _your_ family, we… we go back. Like, a _long_ way."

"Like… the crash?"

"Seems that way. I think… Michael, I think Project Shepherd has been something my family has been involved in from the very beginning."

Jesse Manes has always been a dark cloud hanging over everything good in Michael's world, but hearing about _Manes'_ involvement dating back with Alex's ancestors isn't what he expected at all. Though he also isn't all that surprised. He nods for Alex to continue, knowing there is still more to come.

"And my _brothers_ were involved in this too. All of them. Everyone in my family, except me. I don't think I was willing to let myself believe that until I saw Flint at Caulfield."

"Well. You're involving yourself now, right?" Michael points out as he toys with his pizza, no longer really having an appetite. "All this _research_ you're doing?"

Alex pauses again, hesitating when he pinches the top page on his pile, then types on the laptop and brings up a map on the screen. "When I was going through the databases in Project Shepherd, I kept seeing this list. The one _you_ found a copy of."

Michael watches all the points on that _list_ blink into position on the map. "Right."

"There were other documents to go with it. Things like… things I expect they must have kept for your mom."

"Like what?"

Alex closes his eyes, before tugging out a now-familiar-looking page from the pile. "Medical records. Procedures. Tests. Abilities, even, I think? We haven't seen that so far on the others. Approximated age. Weight, height, sex; all kinds of details. It's why I'm out _here_; I needed to know if there were any others. Any other places doing this."

"Alex—"

"I don't think _Caulfield_ was the first place to imprison _aliens_, Michael," Alex whispers, with tears in his eyes. "When I left Roswell, I didn't really know _anything_ for sure. But after Caulfield—after your _mother_. When I saw those records, and—and these lists. I couldn't let—I had to _know_."

That ringing in Michael's ears only gets louder as he tries to process what Alex is telling him. "So, let me get this straight. You were going to—all these places you're looking at. That _we're_ looking at. You're looking for _other_ Caulfields?"

"I can't let that happen again, Michael. Not if I can stop it. Not if there are aliens out there suffering because of our _testing_. Our _experiments_. Because of people like my _father_. I couldn't risk it. I had to _know_. I had to _check_."

"Wait," Michael says, skimming down the list and tapping over the three-digit numbers preceding each place name. He'd not paid any attention to them before; Michael isn't even sure if this list is a different copy to what he's seen. "These numbers. What's this?"

"Each of those cabinets we saw in that bunker corresponds with one of these. I _think_ they must be sites of other crashes—"

"_Other_ crashes?" Michael says. "Like… other ships?"

"I think so."

"That can't—that's not possible, Alex. It's just not." There _can't_ be more aliens out there. He'd _know_; wouldn't he? He'd feel it. He _would_; Michael is adamant he would, even if he has no basis for thinking such things. Unless, of course, they all died in these other _crashes_.

"All these different numbers they start with," Alex says, sucking in a breath before he answers, gesturing at the numbers on the page. "Roswell wasn't the only place there have been _crashes_, Michael. It can't have been. There were too many files. Too many cabinets."

Michael shakes his head, not believing what he's hearing at all. "That isn't—"

Alex brings another page up on his laptop after gesturing for him to wait. Michael follows his finger over the screen seeing markers over Texas, Missouri, Pennsylvania, and other locations. He looks at the list with corresponding names, sees the _MUFON_ icon in the corner of the screen and—

"You seriously cannot be saying that all these _crackpot_ theories—"

"Well, then, what else is all this?" Alex demands, shoving at the stack of papers. "Why else would they be keeping all these files, with records of tests, of experiments on people? Why would it be so secret if it wasn't _this_?"

"You said it yourself. Some of those places kept people—_humans_. Like those from the border. All those that went missing."

"These files look _nothing_ like those kept for human detainees," Alex tells him, agony in his eyes when Michael looks, making his blood run cold.

"What do you mean?"

Alex closes his eyes, then opens them again and rapidly starts to type. "I hacked into an I.C.E. server, so I could at least _know_ these records weren't for them. For people. I had to look for some other details as well, but—just _look_."

Michael watches screen upon screen pop up of files for _undocumented_ people, seeing they look nothing like the red and white files he and Alex have come across. He's both reassured and even more horrified. "So. Out of interest, before we get back to… _everything_ else. What can we do about _this_?"

"_This_?" Alex repeats, waving at the screen and looking broken for what he's seeing. "How do I even start? What can I do? Our _government_ is doing this to people; people who are from other countries, who… someone has to be _missing_ them, right? Why isn't _more_ being done? If anyone can help them, it's those countries, their leaders, or governments. I don't know _how_ to help them."

"Right." Michael's head feels like it might explode, though he still takes a moment to tangle his fingers through Alex's hoping to soothe him for how distraught he is. "Okay. Well. Forgetting that right now; but we'll come back to it. With all these… all these people in these files we've been looking over. You're telling me you really think crashes _MUFON_ list on their—"

"It's not just MUFON," Alex says, squeezing his hand before dropping it and quickly typing again. This time the screen fills with documents Michael knows without asking must be military. There are photographs, satellite images, more _lists_ than Michael knows what to make of.

"What are these?"

"Army. Navy. Air Force. Classified files detailing sightings of UFOs, potential crash sites—"

"That's not _real_—"

"And _yours_ is the only ship you think crashed here? You, Isobel, Max, Noah; you're the only _real_ aliens on the planet?" Alex demands, looking at Michael in such incredulity, it's enough to make him pause.

"Well, why would so many aliens come here, anyway?" Michael asks, when all the other questions he has fail to come out.

"I don't know. I don't know much of any of this for sure."

"But your dad, with Project Shepherd. You said he was using family money to keep it funded," Michael protests when he remembers. _None_ of this is happening. _None_ of this can be real.

"I don't know. But I _think_ from what I've read, that whoever my dad was reporting to with all this, when they uncovered what happened with Jim Valenti—my dad's part in it—I think that was when they cut him off. Far too _late_, obviously. At least, I guess they must have cut funding for his involvement. I don't for a second believe he was single-handedly funding all of Caulfield at any point. I don't think he's _ever_ been as important in the chain of command for all _this_ as he acted. I just think maybe he bribed his way _in_, or… something. There's so much I _don't_ know."

"So why aren't you—how come we're not visiting all of these crash sites, huh?" Michael asks when Alex falls silent, and he doesn't know what else to ask.

"Because each of them is still under surveillance by whoever is behind all of this," Alex says, gesturing at the stack of papers. "And because what would be the point? The last crash I _think_ is detailed here was in 1997. What could we possibly see there now that would help anyone?"

"Yeah. I guess there wouldn't be much to see now," Michael agrees as he thinks about it, picturing broken parts of ships like _his_ scattered who knows where.

"I wanted to know if there were survivors being kept imprisoned," Alex adds. "I'm not interested in seeing crash sites."

"And then what?" Michael asks. "What was the big plan after that?"

"I left Roswell thinking maybe—_maybe_—some of these other places we were going to might have been, or were once like Caulfield. When we didn't find anything anywhere, I thought—I hoped I was wrong. That I'd _been_ wrong." Alex sighs then, drawing Michael's attention back to the numbers on the page. "I think the next three numbers in those _codes_ must be to identify the… person."

"Alien?"

"I think so."

"Then, what about the last number?" Michael asks, pointing at the ones and zeros. "What are those for?"

Alex swallows hard, staring at him so intently that Michael wants to back away, for suddenly not wanting to know. But he _must_.

"Michael," Alex says softly, "I think… and I don't know. I _have_ no way of knowing; so much of this is speculation. But I think the ones with zeros are aliens who already dead. Maybe died in these crashes, or for all I know in these _experiments_ they've been running. And the ones with… with _ones_, that… maybe they're still alive. _Somewhere_. I _have_ to believe there are aliens out there that are okay. Maybe not _okay_, but… you know what I mean."

"How did you come up with that?" Michael asks, feeling sick. All those files they saw earlier. All those _zeros_.

"I compared them with similar codes I found for the aliens being held at Caulfield," Alex replies, his voice soft with apology. "Obviously before the—"

"Before my mom got blown up," Michael finishes for him, half-dazed. How many of those records are for live aliens out there in the world right now? Where are they? What are they doing? Are they still imprisoned, being experimented on?

"So what was the plan here, if you _did_ find other Caulfields, huh? You think you can single-handedly help all these… all these aliens you think have crash-landed here?" Michael asks, now wondering if what Alex expects is true, _where_ they could be all coming from. Surely they can't all be refugees from Antar?

"I don't know," Alex says, frustration making him pull at his hair. "I don't. I'm in way over my head here, and I don't—I _don't_ know what to do. But I need to _fix_ this, or—I can't just _leave_ things like this."

Michael watches Alex in profile as he stares at his laptop screen, having no idea how to even begin understanding all he's just heard.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's your next [survey](https://forms.gle/c8vSdsKUpn1ukMJ68); you're getting to make a lot of decisions!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter kind of took off and did its own thing... I was not expecting this outcome really but, hey, it's where they wanted to go!
> 
> Okay, **warnings** for content; so it's not spoiled for those who don't want to know, details are at the end - skip to the end note to check before reading. 
> 
> There is a guest appearance from my friend Toby for their assistance with car-related things; thanks lovely ❤️
> 
> Also, just so you know, this is a pretty long chapter! Get comfy before you start! ❤️

Michael can't stop staring at the laptop screen. His head is _spinning_; how is it possible to go from being the only thing that is alien on this planet to realizing he's never been alone at all? When Alex doesn't move Michael pulls the laptop closer to him, pulling the paperwork on to the couch by his side. He takes his time to check dates and locations, sure his pizza might make a reappearance for him doing rough calculations in his head for how many aliens there might be. Or might have been.

Alex still isn't saying anything, and to be honest, Michael is thankful for it; right now he doesn't know how to talk. He takes his time to flick through the stack of paperwork. When he comes across the tissue sample in the file they took earlier, Michael knows hatred for whoever took one from his _mother_, wanting to tear them limb from limb. Whoever they are.

By the time Michael has flicked through every screen Alex has left open, and he's been through the stack of paperwork twice, there is a faint ringing in his ears. Michael isn't sure how he feels; he's numb, and furious, and devastated, and relieved all at the same time. But he _knows_ now what Alex has been hiding from him, and as awful as it is, that it's not something even worse, has taken some of the tension from his shoulders. Not that this, of course, isn't a scenario straight from hell.

"Would you say something?"

There are all kinds of retorts for Alex on the tip of Michael's tongue, overlapping one another in their fight to make it out. But one glance at Alex's face and every word drops away. Tears are slowly leaking down over his cheeks, his eyes fixed on Michael's and filled with fear, and even perhaps a little resignation. He's been dealing with all of this alone. Alex's had no one to turn to with all of this. And as much as Michael hated being kept in the dark about all these secrets, there is no way he can even raise his voice.

"Alex…"

Michael closes the laptop lid and shoves the stack of papers under the couch, moving though not knowing what to do. But then he does; he has to hold him. Michael is careful as he curls his arms around him, not wanting to jostle Alex's leg. He's not sure how he does it but they end up squashed side by side together with Alex's back against the table, Michael gripping on to him tight so Alex doesn't slip.

Alex is shaking. It reminds Michael of when he'd slipped and hurt his leg in that cafe, and only makes him pull Alex closer. He doesn't have the words to soothe him for feeling so _much_ himself right now. Though this is _them_; haven't they always spoken volumes only through touch? Michael urges him to stand with gentle nudges then makes quick work of making Alex's bed, tugging him back into his arms as they lie down. Alex sighs when he settles letting his forehead fall against Michael's, bunching his fingers in the front of his shirt.

"You doing okay?" Michael asks, tugging Alex's leg to drape over his thigh, careful with his knee but wanting him close.

"Are you?"

"I don't think either of us is; before that, after all that."

"Michael; I don't know what to _do_. I don't know—"

Michael realizes he's kissing him too late. Alex's fingertips have found their way between his shirt buttons, and Michael's hand is massaging at Alex's hip. Michael pulls back in alarm, his stomach twisting for the way Alex first goes to chase his mouth, and then raises his eyes from his lips to give him a look that's loaded with _want_.

"I didn't mean to do that."

"I know," Alex replies, swallowing hard, his eyes drifting down over Michael's face.

"Not that I didn't want to, obviously. I just—"

"I understand. I guess old habits die hard?"

Michael fights the urge to kiss him again by squeezing Alex's hip, ignoring the sting in his hand from his cuts while refusing to look him in the eye. "Yeah."

"You never did know what to say to me when I was upset," Alex adds, not helping things at all by giving him the sweetest of smiles when Michael makes himself look.

"Are you saying I only ever kissed you when I wanted to shut you up?"

"No," Alex says, laughing, "that's clearly not what I was saying at all."

"Felt like it. Are you still upset?" Michael asks, kissing him on the forehead. Since he's _started_…

Alex sighs, shaking his head, hooking his finger over Michael's top shirt button, which Michael tries not to focus on the feel of. "I thought _you_ would be more upset."

"Honestly, Alex? I am. And I'm not. It's too much to—I need a little time to think, okay? This is… I don't need to tell _you_ how big this all is to deal with." He wants to call Max and Isobel, but at the same time, Michael thinks he needs to keep this to himself. What would Max and Isobel do if they knew what he does? Would they drop everything, want to join him and Alex on this insane, probably-dangerous _quest_? Would they try to talk him out of staying, fearing for his safety? Michael has no idea how they'd react.

Alex sighs, moving so he can press his forehead back against Michael's, still toying with his shirt buttons. "Take your time. It's not like we know what to do here. It's not like I have any idea where we're supposed to go now."

"Well. We did just get our truck wrecked. I don't know if we _have_ all that much time."

For all they know, someone could be watching them, stood outside their _home_ right now. The thought terrifies Michael, puts him on alert when he lets himself think it. So he does what he has been doing while visiting those bases; judging _Alex's_ reaction to see if he should worry or not. Alex seems calm, relaxed enough to be free of his prosthetic, curled against _him_ with his back to the door. So Michael allows himself to relax again. Though he does need to look at the truck. He decides he'll push back all that _thinking_ he needs to do until the morning when he can lose himself in fixing things like he normally does; as though he'll have _any_ choice in where his thoughts take him. Like back to that _kiss_. Like he doesn't have so many other things to think about.

"I wasn't expecting that to happen like _that_," Alex adds, his smile becoming close to _shy_. Which is ridiculous. This is _them_. Though it's comforting to think Alex's train of thought is so far off course from where it probably should be as well.

"Uh, no. No, me neither."

"I was sure the second I told you, you'd walk out of here."

Maybe if he'd told him earlier, he would have done. Maybe he would have stormed off and drunk the night away to chase back the hollowness he's feeling. Or maybe he'd have reacted in some entirely different way. Michael has no idea of much right now, only that Alex feels really, really good in his arms. He tugs him closer, fighting the urge to kiss him again, relishing in the feel of having Alex so close.

"What can I say? I'm learning."

"I don't know how you've been so patient with all of this," Alex says, licking his lips as he looks at him which is _really_ unfair. Though now Michael doesn't know if he means about his _agenda_, or the fact that their closeness has grown but not quite gone anywhere.

"You'd prefer it if we were always fighting in this?" Michael asks, gesturing to mean the Airstream. "Not like we'd have much space to ourselves if we did."

"I'd prefer we _didn't_ fight."

"Well, we _didn't_."

"No. We really haven't," Alex says; Michael ignores the fact that he sounds so in awe of the fact.

"I don't want us to be like that anymore," Michael says before he can stop himself, though then won't take back. "I know we have a lot to deal with still, but I don't want—I don't want us to be like before, Alex. I don't want us to go back to _not_ talking. I _can't_ be like that anymore. It's too hard."

Alex licks his lips after swallowing with difficulty, looking at Michael's mouth again. Michael _wants_ him so much, even if now isn't the time for it, even if the timing probably couldn't be any worse. Though how is he supposed to resist him? Michael trembles as Alex brushes his lips over his own in question, digging his fingers into his waist in anticipation and closing his eyes as Alex's mouth presses firmer against his.

Of course they're interrupted before anything really gets started; Michael grits his teeth for the sound of Alex's phone, knowing without needing to be told that the call is from _Kyle_. Because why wouldn't it be? Alex groans, which is _something_ at least, for Michael to know he is as frustrated as him. Alex winces as he rolls away from him and grabs his phone from behind him, sighing as he rolls back.

Michael sits up as Alex does, and to his surprise, once he's stopped moving, Alex lifts his legs to throw over his thighs. Michael rests his hand on one and squeezes.

"Hi. Yes; Michael's here," Alex says, covering Michael's hand with his own. "Did you want to speak to him?"

Michael thinks about making some kind of signal to say _no_, but doesn't, for the way Alex's face transforms. His fingers dig into Michael's, and Michael has no idea what to think. Alex's expression is unreadable; Michael can't tell if he's angry, or upset, or anything. He resists the urge to grab Alex's phone to speak to Kyle himself. Though then he doesn't have to, because Alex hands him the phone, staring out across the Airstream as though he doesn't see anything at all.

"Michael?"

Michael keeps his eyes fixed on Alex as he presses the phone better to his ear. "Kyle?"

"Listen. I need you to watch Alex, okay? To be there for him."

Michael tries not to be offended by the implication that he might _not_ be there for him. "Obviously. What's going on?"

Kyle sighs down the phone, frustrated and angry. He doesn't answer right away, which only puts Michael more on edge. "Jesse Manes."

"What about him?" Michael asks, his blood already surging, bracing with the need to protect Alex, and Max, and Isobel from that _monster_. He tries to work out how long it would take them to get back to Roswell, his stomach knotting in fear for remembering they _can't_ go anywhere until the truck is fixed.

"He's _dead_, Michael. Died a week ago; I swear I only found out this afternoon. There were… complications, pre-existing health issues that—he's _gone_."

"What do you mean he's _dead_?" Michael asks, that ringing in his ears back, and his heart thudding when Alex flinches at his words.

"He's _gone_, Michael. I've been going to check on him once a week, and he's—he died. Some old injury issues that—I guess he never told anyone about. His file showed an incident from about four years ago that he never got treated, and—he's just _gone_, okay? I didn't want Alex to be alone when he found out."

It isn't real. It can't be. "So you just went there today, and—"

"I went, same as I always do, same as I have been doing. Jesse was gone from his bed like he'd never even been there. I asked around; looked through his autopsy file. He's _gone_. I swear he is."

Does Kyle hear the doubt in his voice, the residual fear that Michael feels that none of them will ever truly be free of Jesse Manes?

"So how come Alex wasn't told before now?" Michael asks, even if Alex has done just about everything he can to avoid all contact with his father, and anyone associated with him.

"I had the _pleasure_ of speaking to Robert. Alex's brother," Kyle tells him with a bitter twist to his voice that tells Michael exactly the kind of face he must be pulling.

"How'd that go?"

"Apparently Robert arranged for Jesse's funeral like… three days ago. I think the only other person in attendance was Harry. As far as I know, Robert's told everyone he thinks needs to know, and I guess… Alex wasn't one of them."

Michael is furious for Alex, and lost for what to think. He knows Alex's relationship with his brothers has been strained for years, though to be excluded from his own father's funeral, no matter how awful the man is, doesn't sit right at all for Michael.

"So that's it, that's—after everything, he's just _gone_?" Michael asks, still not believing it, not knowing what to think about Alex's lack of reaction. As though Alex can hear his thoughts, he reaches out to take Michael's hand again, carefully stroking around his cuts as though he needs the activity to distract himself.

"Yeah. He is, he's really gone. I checked everything I could; it's real. This happened. And this—just keep an eye on Alex, okay? I don't know how he's going to feel about all this. I wanted to call as soon as I heard, but… Anyway. I'm on lates; I need to get back to work. Can you let me know how he's doing?"

"Yeah," Michael says, not sure he wants to get into regular contact with Kyle for anything; least of all, for giving him updates on _Alex_.

Kyle finishes his call with barely any further words, leaving Michael to watch Alex in silence, the Airstream feeling far too small. He curls his fingers through Alex's, waiting for some kind of indication on what to do next.

"I'm relieved," Alex blurts out when they've been quiet for so long, Michael jolts for the sound of his voice. Alex gives him a small smile of apology for startling him, gently squeezing his hand. "I am. And I'm fine. Honestly."

"But—"

"Could we sleep?" Alex says, squeezing his hand a final time and already shimmying from the bed. "It's been a _day_."

What can Michael say to that? "Sure."

They ready for bed in silence, with so many thoughts swirling around his head that Michael doesn't know how he's supposed to sleep at all. When he goes to get _his_ bed ready, Alex stops him with a soft grip on his arm, nodding towards his own.

"Please?"

Michael follows him with no hesitation, snuggling up tight against Alex as he does the same to him. It occurs to him that Alex is trying to comfort _him_ for everything they've learned today, as _he_ is trying to do for Alex for what he's just learned about his dad. Though isn't this what they have always done for one another? Held on tight until the world outside them drops away, and nothing hurts?

There are no kisses once they've settled, no return to the _almosts_ from just a few minutes earlier. Though Michael still relishes in the feel of Alex in his arms as he drops off to sleep, sure for all he's thinking sleep won't come to claim him anytime soon.

* * *

Michael startles awake before Alex, his head still filled with the tendrils of a terrible dream. All those aliens, all those _experiments_ blended together along with images of _Jesse_ to give Michael the kind of nightmare that's left his skin drenched. Alex is slower to stir, pawing at Michael's chest then splaying his fingers flat there; Michael is embarrassed for thinking his skin must be clammy from his dream.

"Michael?"

Michael closes his eyes at Alex's soft, sleepy voice, pleading with his heart to calm. "Morning, Alex."

"Are you okay?"

Alex's hand moves to rest over Michael's heart; he must be able to feel how it is racing. Michael covers it with his own, gently tugging Alex's hand away.

"Yeah. I'm good. I was just thinking I should probably get on with fixing the truck as soon as I can."

"Now?" Alex says to Michael's retreating back as he jumps up from the bed, pulling on his jeans from last night. He dresses with his back to him, quickly crossing the Airstream for the sanctity of the bathroom where he presses his head against the back of the door and sags. Then Michael feels _guilty_ for storming off as he has. He curses at himself, quickly using the bathroom, rushing back out as soon as he can.

Alex is already sat up, his hair standing on end and the soft look of confusion on his face tugging up the corners of Michael's mouth.

"Can I check your leg?" Michael asks as he kneels on the bed, pointing at the comforter. Alex flicks it back, Michael ignoring the fact that he's only wearing boxers as he carefully grips either side of his knee to inspect it. "It doesn't look bad?"

"It feels better already," Alex agrees, turning his leg to inspect it; there is a graze, and a growing bruise, but nothing that makes Michael worry. "Why did you get up so quickly?"

"Because. I really do need to get started on the truck. I'll need to go find tires, for one. And I think it's going to take hours to get all that glass out. Once I've done all that, I'll go pick up a windshield to fit."

"I can help—"

"No," Michael says immediately, shaking his head. He needs to be alone. He needs to be away from Alex so he doesn't _erupt_ with all these thoughts that are now coming to the surface about these aliens. He also wants to be here for Alex because of his _dad_, but Michael knows if he doesn't put some space between them at least for a couple of hours, he'll blow up like he's done so many times in the past. They _both_ deserve better than that.

Besides, Michael doesn't believe for a minute that Alex is as _relieved_ about Jesse Manes' passing as he said he was last night. He thinks _Alex_ needs a little time alone to be truthful with himself. So him putting some distance between them, just temporarily, Michael thinks might be the best thing for them both.

"No," Michael says again, softer, and cupping Alex's face in his hand. "I'm sure you have work to do?"

"Well. I _do_. But—"

"So let me go do _my_ work," Michael says, swirling his thumb over his cheek. "But I'll get us breakfast first, okay? Anything you feel like?"

"I don't mind. Wait," Alex says, hooking his fingers between Michael's, "a bagel. _Two_ bagels."

"One bacon and cream cheese, the other… what's the other?"

Alex's grin says he's happy Michael remembers his favorite. He tugs on Michael's hand to keep him close. "Something sweet."

"Okay. I'll get us coffee, too. You stay there; it's probably early," Michael says, grabbing his phone. It isn't _that_ early, though he'll probably have to spend some time sweeping out the truck for something to do before anywhere will be open for him to pick up new tires.

Alex appears to be in no hurry to move. He flops back against the bed willingly, sighing in contentment as Michael tucks the comforter back around him and smiling in thanks. And because Michael has no control left in him at that moment, he bends down to claim a quick kiss, for which Alex _grins_, and even lifts up enough to claim another. Michael can't resist him though only leans back for the quickest of kisses, grabbing his wallet after hopping to tug on his boots, then running out the door before he does anything else he probably shouldn't.

Outside the Airstream Michael rests his hands on the truck and lets himself breathe deep, hating the sound of the choked out sob bursting from his mouth. All these weeks they've been chasing _aliens_, going from place to place where people like him might have been kept, or worse. He can't stop seeing those photos in the files from yesterday, hoping against hope that the aliens were at least given some kind of anesthetic during their _experiments_ but knowing in his heart that they weren't.

He wants to break something. Though for the first time in a while for such awful news to deal with, Michael doesn't have the urge to reach for acetone, or drink. He pinches over his eyes determined there will _not_ be any crying, stomping his way out of the RV park in search of breakfast bagels.

Alec's smile is sweet when he returns, so Michael only stays inside the Airstream the shortest length of time he can for not trusting himself not to kiss him again. With tools, garbage bags, and a dustpan and brush to hand, Michael eats his breakfast in between starting work on the truck. He works methodically, sweeping up every shard of glass he can, deciding that he'll drive the truck out for a wash and vacuum once it's fixed.

Michael being angry that Alex has kept the secrets he has flares up at the perfect moment, when he's checked a place he can pick up some tires from a few miles into town. He uses the walk to get the curt words out of his system spitting them on to the ground as he walks. He doesn't blame Alex, though then he does, talking himself into and out of anger towards him the entire stretch of road. He uses that anger to talk himself into borrowing a rolling cart from the dealer to transport the tires on, most of it faded by the time he gets back to the truck.

Grief hits him as he changes the third tire, collapsing to the ground and sobbing, resting his head against the side of the truck. There are aliens out there in the world that might be suffering, whose experiences make his life seem like some kind of privileged existence. That Alex's family has been tied up in all this at least in the case of Roswell hits Michael, hard. It isn't Alex's fault, and it isn't something either one of them can do anything about. Michael still hurts for it, mourns for the life he could have lived without Manes' involvement—then curses himself for even imagining a world without Alex in it. It's enough to make him sit back on his haunches, stare at the Airstream imagining Alex at work inside it and wanting to go to him. He doesn't allow himself to, only goes back to changing the tires, his tears continuing to fall.

Michael returns from taking what he hopes is the last bag of glass shards to the trash to find Alex standing beside the truck with a sandwich and mug in hand. He looks _serene_, at peace even; Michael can't tell how much of that is due to having finally unloaded his burden, and how much for the passing of his dad. Though Michael also doesn't think he has the strength to ask given how torn _he_ is feeling.

"You should eat something. You've been out here for hours," Alex says, gesturing at him by waving the mug and plate. Michael slots between his extended arms to hug him, getting a kiss to his neck as he does. Alex does his best to hug back for having his hands full, leaning his head to the side against Michael's.

"I can't have been that long," Michael says as he holds on to him, muffling the words into his shoulder.

"It's after one."

Michael snorts his surprise there, for having lost himself in keeping busy. When he pulls back he catches Alex's gentle expression, knowing his eyes must be giving his dried tears away.

"Eat," Alex insists as he waves the plate and mug at him again. The moment Michael takes them from him Alex leans to kiss his cheek, then steps away again. "Talk to me?"

Michael pulls down the back of the truck patting it for Alex to sit beside him. Alex gestures for him to wait only to return to him with his own lunch. Alex clearly wasn't expecting that he'd want to eat with him, and for some reason seeing that makes Michael feel guilty. His thoughts are a swirl of emotions, but Michael feels better even for sitting here with Alex in silence. Though he does _want_ to talk; it's just hard for not having a grasp on what he feels.

"I'm _angry_," Michael starts to say when he's finished eating, for that being the first thing that falls from his mouth.

"At me?"

This will be one of so many occasions when Michael's heart pangs for Alex's question being so soft. So Michael takes his time to answer, studying the faded scars over his once-injured hand.

"Yeah. At you. And _all_ of this. I'm angry that whoever is behind all these _things_ did all of the stuff they've been doing. I'm angry at whoever slashed these tires. I'm angry at _me_, 'cos I don't know how to fix _any_ of this; I wouldn't even know where to _start_. And hell; I'm even mad at all those aliens who chose to come _here_. If they hadn't, maybe none of this would've happened at all."

"But then _you_ wouldn't be here," Alex points out with a desperate look that says he can't imagine being without him either. Michael sighs as he takes Alex's hand in his own, playing with his fingers against his thigh.

"No. I guess not."

"I just wanted to see if there was something—anything—about your mom. Or your history," Alex says, sighing to himself. "I didn't expect any of this. I didn't _want_ any of this."

"Who'd want any of this?"

"I don't know."

They sit in silence. Alex drags Michael's hand across into his lap so he can prod at the grubby band-aids on his hand before stroking over them. Michael knows he should probably change them; the last thing he needs right now is for these small cuts to get infected. Alex nods like he's heard him, disappearing into the Airstream with their cups and plates only to return with a first aid kit. Michael watches Alex clean and re-dress his hand, neglecting to point out he should probably have showered first.

"You coming with? To get the windshield?" Michael asks when he hops down from the truck, watching Alex and satisfied his leg isn't hurting him. He secures the rolling cart in the back of the truck, then moves around it to climb in.

"Let's go."

"I'm thinking I might as well change the door windows too; your side is scuffed as hell, and this one's cracked," Michael says as he slides into the driver's seat. How he didn't really notice their damage yesterday he doesn't know.

"Okay. Will it take long?"

"Not me. Done this a hundred times over."

Alex nods, reaching across the seat to rest his hand in Michael's lap. Michael slots his fingers through, smiling for this becoming a habit for them now. He wishes there were more of these sorts of things in their history, though has tentative hope that something as simple as _hand-holding_ will form a regular, easy part of their future.

"So. What do you think?" Alex asks the moment they drive out of the RV park. Michael doesn't need to ask about _what_, though doesn't know if he has anything to tell him.

"This thing is _big_, Alex. I thought it was a big deal when you said about the whole government conspiracy thing back in Roswell. But it's more widespread than that, and it's… it's a _lot_. I don't know where to even start."

"I think it must still be a government thing. Some secret branch of it, or something—something involving parts of the military, anyway. Which is how my dad—my family—got involved."

Michael agrees with him, but spots the perfect opportunity to check on Alex. He squeezes his hand and smiles when Alex turns his head.

"About your dad—"

"I'm fine," Alex says quickly with a sharp shake of his head.

"Really." Michael can't believe him. For the hell his dad put him through, Alex being relieved and _over_ it already is far too much to ask for. He needs time, Michael knows he does. Not to mourn, perhaps, but to adjust to the idea that he's gone.

Alex sighs, pressing his head back against the seat. "I'm sure I won't be, at some point. I'm sure I'm going to have to deal with him being gone, and that it'll hit some time I'm really not ready for it; he _would_ do something like that to me. Even being gone. But right now? I'm okay with it. Really."

"But if you need to talk…"

"You'll be the first person I talk to," Alex tells him, leaning to kiss him on the shoulder. "I promise." Michael doesn't want Alex to suppress _anything_ he's feeling; especially something like this. He can't help but worry, then can't help but worry about Alex's reaction if he tries to push the issue. Alex gives him a knowing smile, again like he can read his thoughts. "If I _don't_ talk to you about this—about my dad—in the next couple of days, _ask_ me. Okay? I'm not shutting you out. I'm not shutting you out of anything anymore. I'm just… we have so much to think about right now. _He_ is the least important."

Michael knows Alex believes what he's saying so nods back to say he's listening, thankful that Alex doesn't seem to be brushing him off entirely. Or at all; Alex squeezes his hand and gives him a look that is filled with promise. Michael _winks _for not knowing how else to respond.

Alex stays in the truck while Michael looks for the new windshield and door window glass, relieved that they don't have to order it or wait for more than a few minutes for the dealer to find them in their stock. He returns to the truck once he's paid since he forgot to bring the rolling cart in with him. Though when he does he finds Alex has pushed the passenger door open and is sat with his legs dangling out of the truck.

"You okay?" Michael asks, going when Alex beckons him closer. Alex holds out his hands, which Michael takes then folds into Alex's lap, cocking his eyebrow in question. "What?"

"Nothing," Alex says with a quick snap of his head, swallowing what Michael thinks is nervously as he raises his head to kiss his cheek.

"Alex," Michael whispers, laughing as he ghosts his lips over Alex's cheek in turn, knowing this is going to escalate if one of them doesn't put a stop to it. "C'mon."

"What?"

"You know," Michael says, as Alex brushes their lips together.

"No. I don't."

"That whole huge government conspiracy thing, with aliens? And the other government thing, with all the people going missing? And now your dad? On top of all that, us _working_ on… _us_?"

Alex drops his gaze to Michael's mouth before kissing him; a barely-there thing that Michael fights the urge to make more of. "Well. Technically, I think _this_ is at least part of us working on _us_."

Alex's logic is _good_, fogging Michael's brain with his closeness, Michael finding himself slotting between Alex's knees as he parts them. Their _almost_ kiss is about to become a _something_ kiss, and Michael doesn't know whether he's more frustrated or relieved for the voice calling him from behind to say the windows are ready. He pulls away from Alex with a groan, catching the same confused look on his face.

Michael's intention had been to transport the glass back to outside the Airstream to change the windows and windshield himself. But after a quick conversation with the dealer Toby, they decided to install the glass then and there together. Alex hops down from the cab giving them room to work, and between Michael and Toby, they have the glass installed far faster than he'd thought possible. Toby lets them leave the truck in the yard while they walk into town for another coffee. It's supposed to be to give Toby time to check the glass over, make sure it's secured, yet Michael is tempted to just drive back to the Airstream with the truck as it is anyway. Which is exactly why he won't; he doesn't trust himself to be alone in the Airstream with Alex just yet.

Of course, time conspires against him. They are back in the Airstream in no time, with such tension in the air that Michael has to throw himself into a shower just to get away. He shouldn't have kissed him last night, shouldn't have let himself get even a taste of Alex. He knew there'd be no easy way back if he did, and look where they are now? In the very least appropriate of moments with everything that's going on, all he can think about is how much he wants Alex. Which makes his shower seem too quick, and leaving the bathroom the very worst idea.

Alex doesn't help at all with the look he gives him when Michael talks himself out. Michael smiles without quite looking him in the eye as he sits at the table, toying with his phone and not able to compose even the simplest of messages to Max or Isobel. He is relieved when Alex leaves without a word to go for a shower himself, though then also wishes he hadn't gone.

When Alex returns, there is another shift of the atmosphere in the Airstream. Michael tries to ignore it, flicking through a magazine he's already read through twice. Alex sits beside him smelling incredible after his shower; Michael fights against dropping his face in his neck to breath the scent of him in.

He needs to leave, now, get out of the Airstream before he gives in to that look on Alex's face; for both their sakes. They're supposed to be _waiting_; especially with everything that's happening. There's been this unspoken agreement between them that no matter how close they've grown, how much better things are for them learning how to communicate, they need to _wait_. Though as Alex clears his throat and looks him over in that way that has always made Michael feel like he's being undressed, Michael is forgetting exactly _how_ they agreed to this. _When_, even. Did they? Is there a good reason to wait when they are both here, and they're _good_, and they _want_ each other so much?

"Alex—"

"I know," Alex agrees, licking his lips and still moving closer. How is Alex moving closer to _him_ when it's Michael who is practically draped over him here on the couch? And when did _that_ happen?

"So if you know…"

"It's okay," Alex whispers, hesitating as he reaches up to cup his face, "it's okay."

"Alex—"

Michael sags in overdue relief for having Alex's lips really on his, crowding closer, wrapping Alex in his arms as he climbs into his lap. He lets his eyes fall closed focusing on relearning the shape of Alex's mouth, the press of Alex's body against his own, that steady thrumb of a racing heart he feels that matches what his own is doing. _This_ is home; Alex's hands on him, the warmth of his skin beneath his palms, their lips already starting to bruise from their kisses because of just how _long_ it's been. Michael can't get enough; how is he _ever_ going to get enough of Alex's kisses now that they've started again?

Alex pulls back to look at him, one hand curled around the back of his neck, cradling his jaw and running a thumb along Michael's lower lip. Michael closes his eyes for it, savoring this particular touch. He's always loved this particular attention. Alex knows it for the smile he gives him, the look of pure joy on his face.

"Are we okay?" Alex whispers as he slots his hands together behind Michael's neck.

Michael sweeps his hands up Alex's thighs, nodding as he noses along his jaw. "Yeah, Alex. We're good."

"Yeah?"

Michael sighs with the weight of all the relief he feels for _this_ finally happening, brushing their lips together asking for another kiss. "Yeah. Your leg okay?"

"My leg's _great_. Don't _worry_."

Alex's fingers are in his hair; something Michael has always loved the feel of. Michael gasps against his mouth for it, pulling him ever closer even though it's impossible for them still being clothed. _Him_ being clothed, really; Michael is aware of the expanse of Alex's skin beneath his palms, for Alex only being in his boxers after that shower. Maybe Michael should have forgotten about getting dressed as well. Alex seems to think so, for the way he starts clawing at the front of his shirt, his fingers repeatedly missing the buttons. Michael wants to help him, even when arguing with himself that he shouldn't.

Alex adjusts again in his lap latching on to his buttons, finally getting open his shirt. Michael holds him by the waist leaning forward to give Alex room to get his shirt off. He shudders first for the feel of Alex's hands sweeping over his chest, and then for Alex leaning forward, draping his arms over his shoulders and pressing their chests together.

"I need you," Alex says as he brushes his lips over Michael's, claiming a harder kiss with a soft whine as Michael pulls him firmer against him. There is no way Michael can keep his hands to himself now, not without all that skin on display and Alex writhing in his lap.

Michael tells himself to savor this; the feel of Alex unbuttoning his jeans, the way he slips his hands into his boxers, closing his fingers around him. Michael shoves his hands down the back of Alex's boxers and _grabs_, groaning when Alex flicks his tongue against his. There is a tussle to get them both naked, quickly, while moving as little as possible, and then Michael is on his back with Alex between his legs, and nothing else matters at all.

"_Alex_," Michael groans out getting his hand between them, taking them both in his grip. Alex looks down, thrusting into his hand before slotting his fingers through to help him stroke. Though even that doesn't last long for their _need_ for one another, Alex toppling forward and writhing between his splayed thighs.

Michael splays his hands over his ass to grind up against him, their kisses missing for the gasps that fall from their mouths as they frantically move together. This is so overdue, Alex's body _home_ to Michael, the way it feels to be touching him again making his blood surge. The need he feels for Alex is overwhelming yet Michael clings on, pulling Alex ever closer, both of them coming within seconds of each other with desperate groans.

Alex drops his head into Michael's neck with a huff, adjusting on his forearms as Michael wraps his arms around him and gets a kiss to the back of his head. Michael's heart continues to hammer in his chest as they calm, cradling Alex to him with the idle, futile thought that he'll never let Alex out of his grip again. He'll have to let him up at _some _point, obviously.

When he feels Alex begin to move, Michael arranges his face in what he thinks is a neutral expression, though knows he's failed for the love he sees there in Alex's eyes. Alex smiles, closes his eyes in relief, then gently kisses him, sighing when Michael raises his hand and slots his fingers through the back of his hair.

They should probably move, but neither of them seems to want to, despite the mess smeared between their chests and how cramped they are on this one couch wedged beside the table. Michael looks across the couch and brings a throw across to them so at least Alex is covered over, smiling for the soft, _thank you_, mumbled against his ear.

Michael closes his eyes for the kisses that follow to his neck and shoulder, smiling when Alex drops his head there once again. He sweeps his hands over Alex's back careful not to snag the throw from him, relishing in this moment they're sharing while doing his best not to overthink.

He startles awake gripping on to Alex, scared for the first few seconds that he'd been dreaming even if he doesn't remember drifting off. Alex's smile is sweet, and understanding, ducking to kiss him slowly as though he has no intention of ever moving again.

It's Alex's stomach rumbling that interrupts them. Alex looks down at himself in reproach as he kneels up, both of them grimacing at the now-dry mess they've made. There is a scuffle as they wash and then dress, though not for a lack of balance. It's the joyful giggles and kisses they share that make anything else impossible, leaving them pressed up against the bathroom door half-dressed just breathing one another in. There is little _speaking_ after; their very own language spoken through looks, and pressed into kisses as they hold on to one another. Michael knows Alex shares his relief and sense of wonder that they're _here_ now, even if neither of them say it out loud.

Michael's heart is full when he opens the Airstream door, having decided they'll get take out again so neither of them has to cook. He's sure his smile is ridiculous, but how can he be anything but as happy as he is? After _everything_, and with all that is happening around them, he has _Alex_, and this time around he is sure he has Alex for good.

He freezes on the Airstream steps with his hand on the door behind him ready to tug closed, for the tall figure leaning against the back of his truck looking up at him in interest.

"I've been watching you for a while. Both of you," Michael hears in place of a greeting, followed by a gesture to the Airstream, and a, "he needs to be out here, too."

"Alex?" Michael calls, hearing him moving around inside; probably getting plates ready for their dinner. "Can you come here?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings**  
Okay, so all that restraint they've shown up until now? It had to break sometime, didn't it? And that time is now! Brace for a fairly mild smutty scene.
> 
> And now that's out of the way, here's your [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeTeCDCEMb2DTgJHd-fBiuZaBpJ6h_y7gZJMKXZkmerVCLprw/viewform). Careful with your choices because you're making a fairly big decision about how things are going to go!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, as I said on Tumblr yesterday, this next chapter got long, and unlike the previous one feels easier to split into two. Thank you to those who responded when I asked, the majority of whom said you liked the idea of the split. So here it is, the first half of the next part, the second will post on Wednesday as normal with a survey. Thank you all! ❤️
> 
> Also! Warning for mild violence...

Michael keeps his eyes on Flint as he walks down the steps, coming to a stop a couple of feet from him. He's never had much to do with Alex's brothers for obvious reasons but he knows this face, and now knows further reasons to hate it. He'd known Alex's family life wasn't great back when they were kids, but recent conversations have revealed just how bad things were. That Flint let his younger brother get beaten by their father and played his part in isolating Alex from his own family boils in Michael's gut. And that's before he even gets to thinking about the potential of Flint's potential involvement with his own mother's incarceration.

Flint's sneer is laughable. For the violent urge to strike him for even being in proximity to his mother at Caulfield, Michael feels like he could snap Flint in half. He won't, obviously. But the few words he and Alex have spoken about Flint's presence at the prison makes Michael now want to rip off limbs. He settles for rattling the truck with his thoughts enough to make Flint jolt upright and step away in alarm—straight into Michael's face where he smiles at him in warning.

"_Flint_?"

Michael grits his teeth for hearing Alex's voice and his footfall on the steps behind him, though feels himself relax as he comes to stand by his side. The anger coursing through him subsides a little further for Alex not only standing beside him, but _pressing_ against him, shoulders squared so it's obvious to _Flint_ exactly where Alex's loyalties lie.

Flint's look for Michael is one of curiosity, though Michael can tell he's trying to turn it into one of contempt. Up closer, the Jesse Manes sneer is visible beneath the surface; one that has haunted Michael in his dreams. Flint isn't quite capable of it, looking more like a boy trying to imitate his _dad_ hoping for praise. Flint's eyes flare when he finally drags his gaze to Alex, tilting his chin in what is probably meant to be defiance.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Flint narrows his eyes for Alex's question. "What are _you_ doing here? I think that's a better question."

"How did you _know_ I was here?"

Flint doesn't answer, which puts a rod of tension up Alex's spine.

"Flint—"

"This is _your_ fault," Flint growls out of nowhere crowding up in Alex's face and shoving at him making him stumble backward. "He's _dead_ because of you."

Michael doesn't hesitate. Before Alex can react Michael swings a punch that lands squarely on Flint's jaw. As the force of it turns his head away Michael grabs on to the shoulder of his jacket and tugs Flint back around, shoving him back against the truck.

"You don't _touch_ him," Michael tells him through gritted teeth shoving him once again when Flint tries to move. "You don't touch him. _Ever_. Got it?"

Flint's breath comes out in short blasts as he struggles against him, a punched sound spilling from his mouth when Michael pushes him back against the truck for a third time. Flint holds up his hands, finally giving up.

"You _ever_ do that again, and I'll—"

"Michael…"

The only thing that could stop Michael allowing the rage in him to simmer over is Alex's voice, the light touch of his hand on his back leaching much of that anger away. Michael straightens up, keeping his fingers bunched in Flint's jacket as he glares at him before stepping away, thankful for Alex immediately pressing into his side again.

"You shouldn't have sent him away, Alex," Flint says, his eyes not leaving Michael's even as he speaks to his brother, his breath still thready from his attempts to strike out. "If you'd not sent Dad away, then—"

"He _had_ to leave. Don't you get it? Everything he was trying to achieve. Everything he was trying to influence."

"But you—"

"He's _gone_, Flint. _Gone_. Not because of me, or any of us, or even what he did. It's because of who _he_ is. _Was_."

Michael can't even get his head around the idea that Flint would think to blame _Alex_ for Jesse Manes dying. Alex bristles with his own anger, visibly trying to keep it under control. Michael is in awe of his restraint, how Alex isn't boiling over with _everything_ that's happened to him.

"So. I'll ask again. How did you know we were here?" Alex asks through gritted teeth.

Flint wipes his mouth, prodding along his jaw and cheek and looking at Michael in reproach, like _he_ wasn't the one to start any of this at all. Michael doesn't think he'll bruise too badly, though can't find himself caring much if he does. "Dad told me to keep an eye out for you."

Alex scoffs, glaring as he looks him over. "What, from a coma?"

"After you destroyed _Caulfield_," Flint replies, turning his glare back to Michael. Clearly he believes that what happened at Caulfield is _his_ fault. Good. Though Flint then turns his fury back to Alex, squaring his shoulders as he speaks. "Before your _friend_ put him in that coma."

Alex doesn't falter. "Who told you that?"

"You think _you're_ the only one with contacts everywhere, Alex? You think you're the only one who people talk to?"

"So, who talked to _you_?"

Michael thinks Flint isn't going to answer. He bunches his hands in fists ready to strike out again if he has to. Flint sees the gesture, narrowing his eyes for it, though then gives an almost inaudible sigh.

"An acquaintance of mine caught you two on a camera outside a military hospital in Montana. It's funny," Flint says, glaring at Michael, "how right after, every other camera in the place just stopped working." Michael only shrugs, which seems to piss him off more.

"Why there?" Alex asks. "Why would you even think we'd be there?"

"I didn't. Dad knew you'd probably go somewhere like that; there's a whole list of places he expected you might start trying to get into. So I called in some favors. Really, I'm surprised it took you so long to get to Montana," Flint adds with a goading laugh.

"You're telling me there are more of those _records_ elsewhere?" Alex asks, unfazed by Flint's attempts to belittle him.

"Montana. _Here_; which you know, obviously. Few other places; at least there used to be. Everything's slowly being transferred here to the base; at least, that's the plan. That's where everything is being kept as a backup. Project Shepherd, and all the other Projects, they probably have information onsite still. At least for some; _you_ saw to there being no records left in Roswell," Flint says, with sneering accusation that, really, is pointless given his audience.

Alex doesn't flinch. "And then what?"

"They're building something over it that'll make it all more secure. Putting up some functioning facade so the base can be used again for military purposes, and the Projects have a classified base beneath. I thought you were supposed to be _smart_, Alex," Flint adds, once again laughing at him. "Where've you been all this time?"

"We were looking for other Caulfields," Michael tells him, not wanting Alex to have to deal with all of the conversation alone. His words make Flint's eyes flare wide in surprise.

"Other alien detainment centers?"

"Other _prisons_, yeah."

Flint laughs again, though is frowning, looking between the two of them in surprise. "Why?"

"Why?" Alex repeats, his tone dropping to one of fury.

"Yes." Flint flits his gaze between the two of them looking even more doubtful. "I thought you'd be looking for records. Evidence. Why would you be looking for _them_?"

"_Them_? You mean the _aliens_ your Projects have been keeping locked up for _decades_?" Michael asks, _his_ fury building in him.

"To _help_ them," Alex says, wrapping his arm around Michael's waist.

Flint shakes his head, still frowning. "...why?"

For Alex squeezing him harder, Michael doesn't strike at Flint like he wants to, needing to wipe the smug indifference from his face. Alex presses firmer against him, the warmth of him at his side enough to soothe Michael into no reacting.

"Anyway," Flint says with a guarded glance between the two of them that Michael _really_ doesn't like. "My contact told me they'd seen you in Montana. I figured you'd make it here after, when you realized there'd be a bigger facility storing information, so I thought I'd wait. Followed you out there to the base—"

"Slashed up our truck," Michael adds for him, earning himself a scowl.

"Which is when I tried to call _Dad_ to tell him I'd detained you—"

"You didn't _detain_ us—"

"I was _going_ to," Flint growls at Alex, though there is so much uncertainty on his face Michael can't tell what he's really thinking. "And that's when I found out that not only is he _dead_, but that Robert and Harry had a funeral for him and didn't even _tell_ me. Our dad is _dead_, and no one told me about it at _all_. What's that _about_, Alex?"

Flint's breath comes out in sharp blasts making Michael think he's about to cry. But he watches him then school it in while still scowling at them both, as though all of this is _their_ fault. Michael knows a slight pang of sorrow for Flint, for him realizing he too is considered an outsider in the Manes family.

"Wait. You didn't even know Dad was in a coma?" Alex asks with his voice rising in surprise, which makes Michael internally roll his eyes. He knows family life is difficult for them all, but do none of the Manes brothers ever bother to stay in contact? Ever?

"I didn't know _anything_," Flint insists. "After _Caulfield_, Dad told me it was better if I go back to my regular duties."

"What was he blackmailing _you_ with, anyway?"

"But I didn't want to go back to Munich, so I stayed here," Flint adds, shifting foot from foot as he dodges Alex's question, making Michael want to know the answer too.

"Where?"

"Texas."

"Where in Texas?"

"What does it matter?" Flint says. "The point is, I was right _here_ when Dad was in hospital, and not one of you bothered to _tell_ me."

"I found out he was _dead_ through Kyle Valenti," Alex retorts, "don't make out like I had anything to do with keeping any of this from you. I'm the black sheep of us all, remember?"

Michael flits his eyes between the two of them with exasperation building in his gut. Manes stubbornness in stereo? No, thank you.

"Well. We were gonna eat," Michael says when the silence that follows between them becomes unbearable. That _glare_ on Alex's face looks so much harsher on the face of his brother, colder, and more callous, though still nowhere near as brutal as their dad's. He glances between the two of them still staring each other down and clears his throat, waving his hand between them to get their attention. "So. If you wanna join us—"

"He doesn't need to _join us_, he needs to leave. _Now_," Alec snaps back, only narrowing his eyes at Flint further. This might be a long, long night if they keep this up, and Michael had already put some thought into how he'd _prefer_ their evening to be ending. Which obviously isn't going to be happening now with Alex's brother around. _Damn_.

"Well. _I_ need to eat," Michael tries, smiling at Alex after nudging his chin against his shoulder to get his attention. "And I know _you_ need to eat. And I'm not leaving you two here."

Alex licks his lips as he turns more towards him, looking back at Michael as though he's looking for guidance. "Why not?"

"'Cos," Michael says, laughing, "I don't know what I'll be coming back to if I do. Feel like I'll need a bigger first aid kit than I've got if I leave you two alone."

"We'll all go," Alex says after a long pause that leaves Michael thinking Alex is still planning for Flint to be _gone_. His jaw is still clenching as he gives Flint another glare, his expression only softening when he looks at Michael again. "I think I want a jacket. You?"

"No. I'm good."

"Maybe you can help me _find_ a jacket," Alex insists, tilting his head back at the Airstream so Michael knows to follow him. He clambers up the steps behind Alex closing the door without even a glance back at Flint.

"You doing okay?" Michael asks the moment Alex spins to face him, arms out wide for him to fall into. Alex sighs in frustration tucking into his embrace, pressing his face into Michael's neck.

"No?"

"I can tell him to leave?"

"No," Alex says, sighing again, pulling back and resting his hands against Michael's chest. "I just didn't expect him to show up. Him of _all_ people."

"Well. He seems pretty cut up about your dad," Michael replies, looping his arms around his waist to keep him close.

"Yes. He _would_ be."

"Alex—"

"It's fine."

It clearly _isn't_, though Michael's just as out of his depth as Alex looks, and it's not even _his_ brother currently standing outside. He cups Alex's face between his hands, tilting his head so they make eye contact. "This is on your terms. Okay, Alex? Whatever you need, or want."

Alex closes his eyes, nodding. "Okay."

"If you want him gone, I'll make him. If you wanna talk, I'll... well. I don't plan on leaving you alone with him right now. But I can… I can sit, right over there," he adds, nodding at his bed, "leave you to talk. If you want it."

Alex's look for him is loving, and grateful, and also edged with a little tease. He turns his head just enough to get a kiss to the back of Michael's thumb. "Are you saying I can't _handle_ myself?"

"Oh," Michael says straightening up and letting his hands fall, giving Alex the once-over before winking at him. "I _know_ you can."

"You getting _chivalrous _on me?"

"Maybe?" Michael replies, grinning helplessly for the way Alex is looking at him in such delight. Alex only hums, dropping his gaze to Michael's mouth before leaning in to kiss him, Michael wrapping his hands wide around his waist.

They lose themselves in one another, which Michael thinks they have every right to do. They're _new_ again, finally allowing themselves to enjoy being together, and to be honest it feels impossible to Michael for them to part. Though they do, because they really are both hungry, having worked up an appetite earlier. He pats Alex's stomach for it growling, smiling when Alex tangles his fingers through and squeezes.

"So, were you saying something?" Alex asks, holding up his hands for Michael to slot his fingers through.

"I'm _saying_, I will hurt _anyone_ who comes anywhere near you. I don't care how much _training_ you or him have."

Alex smiles again, leaning to press a kiss to his cheek, then making his way across the Airstream, opening _Michael's_ closet.

"Uh… Alex?"

"I want this one," Alex says, pulling out his black denim jacket. It's nothing special, but seeing Alex putting on something of his stirs heat in Michael, making him cross the Airstream in quick strides to smooth down the collar of it before claiming another hungry kiss that is harder to pull away from. Michael snatches his wallet on the way out when Alex pulls back grumbling about them probably needing to move, closing the Airstream door behind him as they leave.

Michael tilts his head in the direction of the route they'll need to take through the RV park to get something to eat, then leading the way. He does his best not to show his surprise when Alex immediately slips his hand into his to his right, and Flint falls into step with them to his left.

"So. You're Flint," Michael says when once again he can't deal with the awkwardness of the silence between them.

"And you're _Michael_." Flint _wants_ to sound hostile but doesn't manage to pull it off. Michael still feels the need to tear him limb from limb because of his _mom_, and for Alex. But for Alex being with him, and Flint _maybe_ being the only person in the world who can tell him anything about his mother, he doesn't. Though he doesn't really know what to say to him.

"What do you feel like eating, Flint?" Michael asks, gesturing at the take out place a couple of stores down once they make their way on to the street with none of them saying a word.

"Remember that time you ate that venison steak just because _Dad_ did, Flint? None of us would touch it, but _you_, you were so _desperate_ to get his attention. Threw up all over the place because you made yourself eat it even if you didn't like the taste. For _him_."

Michael doesn't know what to make of the mocking tone in Alex's voice. It's not one he's heard before, and while it puts in his mind an image of the Manes' family bickering around the dinner table that makes him wistful for a carefree Alex, it reminds Michael of just how much hurt Alex has been through—in part because of this man stood to his left.

"I'll eat whatever," Flint says, with a touch of petulance in his voice that makes Michael want to laugh.

"Well. I got us pizza from here before, but the burgers look amazing. I think that's what I'm getting."

"Burgers sound good," Flint replies, to which Alex scoffs.

"Still can't even decide on your own dinner without someone else's approval?"

"You buying us dinner since you smashed up our truck?" Michael asks hoping to change the subject, though proving himself to be just as _childish_ as Flint and Alex sound right now.

Flint at least has the decency to look contrite even if there isn't an apology to follow. He opens the door to the take out place for them and gestures for Michael and Alex to go inside. Conversation turns to food, then stops altogether as they wait for their order once Flint has paid. Michael hides his surprise when, as they wait, Alex curls into his side with one hand resting on the small of his back. Michael turns just enough so he blocks Alex's view of Flint.

"You okay?" he says softly, which is a question covering just about everything. _Them_, what they just shared, what they saw, Alex's dad, and now having _Flint_ here so unexpectedly.

For the first time since Flint's arrival, Alex's face softens, treating Michael to a sweet, soft smile. He nods, pressing his face into Michael's shoulder, then looks at him with fresh determination and leans in to steal a kiss.

"Yes," he whispers, letting his hand rest on Michael's chest before drawing it away. "I am."

"Good."

"You?"

Michael nods, and because he wants to, he leans to kiss him back. Alex _grins_ for it, looping his arms around Michael's waist and leaning into him as they wait for their food.

* * *


	23. Chapter 23

Dinner back in their Airstream is awkward, the table feeling far more cramped than normal thanks to an extra body wedged in around it. There is barely even any polite conversation, Michael giving up on trying to get either of them to talk after his third attempt earns him a grunt from Flint, and a squeeze of his thigh from Alex. He takes a couple of extra minutes more than necessary to take their trash out just for some air away from the tension, unsurprised when Flint and Alex aren't even talking in his absence when he gets back.

"So. Alex tells me you were making smart bombs to use alien DNA as a weapon against us. Biowarfare, right?" Michael says as he slides back into his seat beside Alex, casually throwing an arm around his shoulders. It's not the most typical of conversation starters, and in the back of his head Michael once did have an idea of making far more pleasant small talk should he ever meet any of Alex's family. Though the silence has made him antsy, and there are _answers_ he wants. If Flint is the way to get them, well. He'll try anything.

"Dad said you'd been compromised by one of them," Flint says in reply with a scathing look at Michael as he speaks to Alex. Michael hadn't expected any different despite his attempts at hospitality, though he still has the urge to reach across the table and drag Flint closer for a fistfight. Instead, Michael watches Alex out the corner of his eye, first seeing him cock his head, then not knowing how to school in his smirk when Alex crowds even closer to him.

"Michael asked you a question."

Flint's arrogance is intermingled with his uncertainty in his own words. "We need to prepare for the inevitability of the invasion of _your_ people. So, yes; we were working on them."

"You got any evidence _my people_ are planning on invading?" Michael retorts, though is desperate for any scrap of evidence that _his people_ are out there somewhere. Even if he no longer thinks about finding ways to get back _home_.

Flint darts his eyes between the two of them, before pursing his lips and shaking his head. "Our clearance only gave us access to details of the incident in Roswell."

"Then you _know_ there were others," Alex points out. "And if you're preparing a _bomb_, using _their_ DNA—"

"We were building the basis of a bomb," Flint replies. "Once it's ready, the plan is to add _any_ alien DNA we come across. Fight off whatever threats might come our way."

"So, you're admitting that these other _incidents_ weren't necessarily coming from Michael's planet?" Alex asks, which is still something Michael needs to get his head around. He was never arrogant enough to truly believe those from Antar were the only aliens out there. Though the idea of even more species of aliens wanting to come _here_ is too difficult to deal with.

"I'm not admitting to anything, because I don't _know_ anything," Flint says, irritation creeping into his voice. "Only that we were preparing the bomb."

"You know these _incidents_ date back to as early as the mid-1800s—maybe even earlier—and that so far, at least to _my_ knowledge, there have been no signs of any imminent attacks? Not one?"

"You're preparing for genocide, _just in case_," Michael adds to continue on from Alex, in part relieved that there isn't a storm coming in the shape of an invasion, or something. Though he also knows a hollowness for being more certain than ever, that no one from Antar is looking for them.

"He's doing what our dad told him to do," Alex replies, glaring at Flint and not giving him the chance to answer. "Which begs the question. Now he's _gone_, and he can't blackmail his way into any facility of any kind like he did with Caulfield, what's _your_ purpose now?"

"You said you've been watching us for a while," Michael adds, going over Flint's earlier words, fighting his smile when Alex laughs.

"You lucked out with finding us," Alex replies, his words dripping with disdain. "I'm guessing you lost us in between you slashing the truck up and trying to reach Dad. You probably found the only place around here we could get new tires and a windshield from, and then followed us here to the RV park. You've been _watching_ us for _hours_. Right, Flint?"

Flint glares across the table at them, clearly fighting back some unpleasant retort. Though then he rolls his eyes, absently tapping his fingers against the table. "I saw the two of you walking. Followed you when you picked the truck up from, I'm guessing, replacing the windows, then drove back here."

If he and Alex hadn't been so tense for the things brewing between them, Michael thinks they would have noticed being followed. He hopes so, anyway.

"So, I'll ask again. What's the big plan for you now?" Alex asks, back to goading and bordering on malicious. Michael doesn't like it much even if he understands, though then fears that Alex's anger for Flint is misdirected for not having Jesse here to stand up to for a final time.

"I guess I'll be reassigned," Flint says, not disputing a single word of anything that's been said to him. "Sent back to Munich, maybe. I don't know."

"You not wanted in Texas on your new base?" Alex sneers. 

Flint's jaw works in anger as he looks away. "Not really working out for me there."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"And I didn't have—Dad was my only contact for all of this. Project Shepherd. There's no one else to take orders from."

Flint's choice of words hits Michael, leaving him imagining what life within the military—or with a father like _Jesse Manes_—must be like. It almost allows him to feel sympathy for the man in front of him who's been suspicious, curt, and outright rude since arriving, despite Michael's efforts. Maybe Alex had the right idea with trying to send him away earlier. 

"So, you're just giving up?" Alex says, which Michael isn't expecting, and neither from the looks of things is Flint. "That's it? You're just walking away?"

"You _want_ us to keep doing what we're doing?"

"What _are_ you doing, Flint?" Alex asks. "Seriously. What is it you're actually _doing_ here?"

"You know—"

"Here's what I _know_," Alex says suddenly sitting forward, resting his forearms against the table. Michael rests his hand on his back. "I think Dad got something on you. Something enough to blackmail you with. Something so big, he could use _you_ to get into Caulfield, to oversee, or to at least monitor all the things they're doing there. _Were_ doing there. I think _Dad_ lost his credentials to get in there years ago. He needed eyes on the ground, because of his _obsession_. You were a _tool_ to him; a means to an end."

Flint's jaw works, his eyes narrowing in anger, but he doesn't say a thing. Alex sits up straighter, pressing his thigh firmer against Michael's.

"I think Dad fed you all these lies, all these half-truths about the aliens they found in Roswell, and probably elsewhere," Alex continues. "And _you_, because you never could stop trying to _please_ him, ate it all up. Hung on his every word. His beliefs became yours; even if you didn't really get any of it. Even if _this_ is about as close as you've _ever_ got to these aliens who are supposedly such a threat to us."

Michael isn't expecting that either, though he realizes it's true for the uncomfortable look on Flint's face, and the way he still doesn't answer.

"I think, your purpose, your role in Caulfield didn't bring you into _any_ contact with the people being held captive. Tortured, experimented on; like Michael's _mother_," Alex adds, pressing his leg firmer against Michael's in apology. Flint's eyes dart to Michael's in alarm as well. "And I _think_, if your access, your limited access to whatever you did in Caulfield had actually brought you into contact with those aliens, you would have _realized_ everything that was happening there was wrong. Like, _beyond _wrong_. _What's worse, is I think you _know_ that, and that you purposefully avoided any opportunity to make contact, because you _knew_ it would change your mind. It was easier to believe Dad's story if you only heard it from him, right? If you didn't look for anything for yourself."

That Alex has put so much thought into this is another surprise to Michael, though he supposes it shouldn't be. He's talked about his family's involvement, so he has to have been at least thinking about the extent of Flint's work at Caulfield. Michael knows disappointment for even having the smallest hope that Flint could tell him something about his Mom dashed, then pushes the thought from his mind.

"The question is, why didn't Robert and Harry invite either of us to Dad's funeral?" Alex continues, apparently changing the subject, staring at Flint in thought. "Me; I get, I guess. But _you_?"

Flint says nothing, only continuing to glare back.

"Does Mom know? About Dad? About any of this? She must have at least known _something_ was off," Alex says, giving Michael the impression he's more thinking out loud instead of actually asking a question. Which of course raises more questions for Michael. Alex has talked about his dad, and even a little about his brothers. But aside from a few comments over the years, Alex has never talked much about his mom.

"She _left_ because of Dad," Flint says immediately, which just seems to piss Alex off more.

"So you knew that. You acknowledge that life was _hell_ with him. For _her_, and then for _me_."

Michael knows new anger for picturing a cowering Alex backing away from his dad while his brothers looked the other way. He tightens his grip around Alex's shoulders when he sits back up; not only to keep him close, but because he needs the anchor that Alex provides so he doesn't lash out at _Flint_.

"So, what are _you_ doing here?" Flint says, tilting his chin at Alex with the briefest of glances at Michael, not confirming anything Alex has just said, though his silence not a denial either. "You've been looking for other Caulfields, for what?"

"You think I'm going to let the same thing that happened at Caulfield happen to anyone else, if I can stop it?" 

Flint groans, slumping in his seat and letting his head fall back. "This is just like that damn puppy all over again."

For Alex stiffening against him, Michael squeezes his shoulders, and when neither of him elaborates, has to ask.

"What puppy?"

Flint scowls at him but then his expression softens as he sits forward again. "When Alex was… maybe eight—"

"I was _ten_."

"Okay. When Alex was _ten_," Flint amends, rolling his eyes, "he came home from school with this _thing_ wriggling down the front of his shirt. He'd found this puppy, probably some runt of the litter, abandoned by the roadside. Wanted us to keep it."

Alex scowls across the table at Flint like he _is_ ten again, which makes Michael fight the urge to laugh.

"He tried to hide it in his room. Dad caught him sneaking scraps of food from the table."

"_You_ told him it was there. And if it wasn't for _Arturo_, I wouldn't have eaten for the rest of the week," Alex retorts. 

Michael now pictures a tiny Alex climbing on to a stool at the Crashdown with Arturo feeding him when his own father wouldn't, and wants to break something.

"Dad threw the thing out," Flint adds, his voice monotone; Michael is sure he's trying to disguise that he felt anything at all.

"Literally," Alex says, spitting the word out, putting even worse images in Michael's head. 

"You made things worse."

"How did _I_ make things worse?"

"You knew he wouldn't let you keep it, Alex. _You_ did that."

Michael is too incensed to argue, pulling Alex even tighter to him. How dare Flint try to gaslight him for trying to do the right thing?

Alex's smile becomes cold. "Yeah. I _did_ do that. You know what else I did?" Flint shakes his head. "This was obviously before Dad put that lock on my door. I crept out when you were all sleeping, found the puppy. He'd not gone far, and thankfully wasn't too hurt, but he'd balled up against the cold like he'd given up. I carried him to Kyle's; Kyle was still undecided back then if he wanted to be a vet, or a people doctor. Kyle woke his mom, and she had the puppy adopted by one of Kyle's cousins, or second cousins, or something. Drove me back home, dropped me a little way away so I could sneak back in without waking anyone. None of you even noticed I was gone."

Flint's eyes twitch, his jaw working like he doesn't believe him. Michael thinks he just fell in love with Alex even harder for what he's heard. 

"So, _that's_ what you think you're doing here? _Rescuing_ them?" Flint says then, his eyes flaring, and his lips twitching up in cruel amusement. "You think if there are any other Caulfields out there, you're going to, what; sneak them out one by one and _rehome_ them all?"

"I don't know. But I'm not taking the chance that people are still being _experimented_ on."

"Do you have _any_ idea, about the kind of people you're going up against?" Flint says, laughing more openly. "You're _one_ person. Two, I guess," he amends with a brief look at Michael. "You think you're going to, what; ask them nicely to stop with that too-big heart of yours, and they _will_? There are genuine threats out there, Alex. You don't think it's responsible to prepare for them?" 

"Not if it's at the expense of _lives_, no." 

"What if all these tests they're running, or whatever they're doing to these _aliens_, what if they're useful to help _us_? Humans? They have a similar physiology, obviously," Flint adds with a glance at Michael that he _thinks_ is supposed to be intimidating, though only makes Michael laugh.

"You wanna try running tests on _me_, Flint?" Michael says opening his arms out wide in invitation, and because he's been patient enough, decides to _play_ a little. He closes the Airstream's curtains with his thoughts, rattling everything in their kitchen cupboards making enough noise to make Flint jump. Then he lifts the tablet from where he put it on a shelf earlier, gently lowering it to the table without moving. Flint's eyes are out on stalks as he watches, bracing away against the table, then jolting when music blares too loud from the tablet a moment later. "Ooops."

"You know our Dad killed Jim Valenti?" Alex adds, his voice becoming clipped. Flint's face shows his doubt, his uncertainty, even if his words don't.

"That was that _alien—_"

"An alien who had no control over what they were doing. And even if they did, you don't think being locked in a cell for _decades_ of torture gave any of them the right to self-defense? Our Dad pushed Valenti in there _knowing_ what would happen. From what I've read up on, it was around about that time when whoever this government agency is realized what he'd done and ousted him."

"That's not—that's not how it happened."

"So how do _you_ think it happened?"

"Our family legacy. We have ancestors who—"

"We've been involved since the beginning, yes," Alex says, cutting him off. "But don't you think it's odd the way Dad did everything? How he used _family_ money to keep it going? He lost access to so many resources, and involvement—and classification—because he was being _him_. I think Dad tried to bully the wrong people, and it backfired."

Flint shakes his head in denial. "No. No; that's not how it happened."

"It doesn't really matter _how_ it happened. Just that it _did_ happen. I can't consciously live with the legacy of all of that. Of all that's been done. Can you?"

"_I_ didn't do any of this."

"No. Neither did I. But that doesn't mean we should just _sit_ here, and—"

"And what?" Flint says, growing angrier. "You think you can just break into government facilities and snatch these aliens out? If there's even any left alive?"

"We don't _know_ what we're going to do," Michael says before Alex can answer, for feeling him growing more tense. "This is still pretty new to us. To _me_, anyway. I don't think Alex really realized just how big this was until we were in that bunker."

"Aren't you afraid of being taken for these _tests_?" Flint blurts out, regretting it, Michael thinks, for the way he then swallows nervously. Michael shrugs; it's not like the thought hasn't crossed his mind. 

"This is bigger than one person. One _alien_."

"So _you're_ all for going into these places, all guns blazing—"

"No guns. No anything, because we're not going _anywhere_ right now. We need to figure some stuff out before we go anywhere," Michael replies. He and Alex haven't discussed that yet, but that's what he wants, and that's the only way he thinks they get through whatever they need to do here safety. He'll argue for it if he has to, but for Alex's easy nod and the way he squeezes his leg beneath the table, Michael is fairly sure Alex already agrees.

Flint looks between the two of them again like he doesn't know what to say. The mood becomes awkward again, though Michael doesn't want to be the one to fill it. He'd leave Alex to talk to his brother in private, though doesn't really trust the tension between them not to spill over into something violent.

"Did Robert really not tell you about Dad?" Flint asks then, soft and more unsure of himself than he's sounded since he arrived. Again Michael knows a little sympathy for him; it's like whiplash.

Alex grips on to Michael's thigh to keep him from slipping as he reaches beneath the couch for his laptop bag. He takes out his old phone, that Michael hasn't seen him use or even look at in a while. The battery is drained, so Alex connects it to a power pack and waits.

"It's getting late," Alex says, staring at the charging phone resting on the table.

Flint checks his watch. "I should go soon."

"You can stay here if you want," Michael offers without thinking, feeling Alex jolt in surprise.

"No. You can't," Alex says, furious and adamant. "I'll check my phone for _messages_, then you can leave."

Michael nudges against his shoulder. "C'mon, Alex."

"He—"

"He can take my bed," Michael adds, nodding towards the bed that, if he has his way, he'll never sleep in again. His place is _here_, with Alex. And despite Alex's anger, Michael knows the moment he makes Flint leave he'll be overwhelmed with guilt for it.

"I need to report back. _Go_ back. To my unit," Flint adds when Alex's eyes narrow. "Texas."

"Weren't there any objections to just _leaving_ to come here?"

"I took some personal time. Because of _Dad_."

"Right."

"What I mean is, I won't stick around. I mean, after tonight. If I stay tonight. If that's okay…"

Flint seems lost. Alex doesn't even look up from the phone. So Michael clears his throat, ready to make small talk if he has to. Alex saves him from it.

"Do what you want."

Michael watches Flint studying Alex's bent head with what he _thinks_ is a _thank you_ in his expression. Since Alex seems in no mood at all to be hosting, Michael gestures for Flint to follow him through the Airstream giving him a quick tour. "I don't know what you need, but there are towels in that cupboard. Shampoo, shower gel, toothpaste there. Don't have any spare toothbrushes, but, it's something."

"Thank you," Flint says and it sounds genuine, even if his voice is filled with doubt.

Michael leaves Flint in the bathroom. He holds his hand out to Alex when back at the table and pulls him to his feet. Alex stands willingly, throwing his arms around his neck and sagging against him.

"You okay, Alex?"

"This is _not_ how I wanted to be spending our evening," Alex says with a mournful glance towards the bathroom.

"No. Me neither."

"I can't _believe_ you invited him to stay."

Michael smiles against Alex's mouth since he's already kissing him. "I kind of felt I had to, since he's your brother and all."

"Why do you have to be so _nice_?"

Michael laughs, pulling him closer by the waist. "Well. I don't think I've ever been accused of being _nice_ before. I think I like it."

"You would have liked what I _thought_ we'd be doing this evening a whole lot more."

"I don't doubt it," Michael agrees, smiling for Alex's _grumbling_. "We'll kick him out after breakfast."

"You want to _feed_ him as well?"

Michael silences him with a kiss intending on savoring it since Flint will no doubt be out any moment. He _aches_ for Alex already, half-wanting to ask Flint to leave now but knowing he can't. Alex's fingers tugging on his hair forces a groan from his mouth that is probably a little loud but he doesn't care, sneaking his fingers beneath Alex's shirt. If he's only getting these few minutes with Alex in private then he's taking all he can get.

That Alex doesn't even pull away when they hear Flint clearing his throat when he rejoins him—even _curses_ when Michael finally nudges him back—puts a smirk on Michael's face as he takes his turn in the bathroom. Flint and Alex still aren't saying much when he returns, so Michael shoos Alex off for his turn in the bathroom making quick work of making their bed. _Theirs_.

"We need to set you an alarm or something, Flint?" Michael asks feeling the need to say something.

"No. No, I'll be fine. I'm usually up early anyway."

"Honestly? I thought Alex would be the same," Michael says as he kicks off his boots. "Some days he sleeps in later than I do."

"That's because _you're_ always up ridiculously early for working so hard," Alex replies as he rejoins them, not even looking in Flint's direction as he passes.

"Not _that _early."

Michael smiles, getting a kiss to Alex's cheek as they strip down ready for bed with their backs to Flint, who has already climbed into bed. Michael pulls back the comforter and crawls in as Alex sits and checks his phone, watching his eyes flare for the phone buzzing repeatedly as he absently massages over his stump. Michael sits cross-legged and takes over for him, gently mimicking the patterns and pressure he's seen Alex use in the past, earning himself a smile of gratitude as Alex continues to go through his phone. Though that smile drops as Alex puts the phone to his ear and listens to messages.

"You okay?" Michael asks when he's done, holding out his hand.

"Just some texts from back in Roswell," Alex says, absently reaching out to slot his fingers through.

"Oh?"

"Just Liz. _Maria_. Both checking in."

Michael pats the bed beside him since Alex is still sat on the end of it, his stomach knotting when he shakes his head. He's not upset by their messages, is he?

"Flint." 

Michael hears Flint shifting beneath his comforter for hearing Alex call him. "Yeah?"

"I got a voicemail from Harry telling me about Dad. Nothing from Robert."

"...right."

Alex sighs, shifting over to now lie down beside Michael, who splays his hand over his hip as he settles.

"You okay? With all of that?" he asks as he gestures at the phone. The last thing Michael wants is a rehash of all they've left behind in Roswell, the loneliness Alex evidently felt for feeling _betrayed_ by his friends. He wants to talk about this, to get Alex to say whatever's on his mind. Though Michael doubts he will for Flint being just a few feet away.

"Yeah. I'm good," Alex says, still scrolling through his phone. He starts writing something on it then shakes his head, turning the phone off.

Michael tells himself not to push the issue, but still can't quite stop himself. "Bet you had a lot of messages, huh? That thing's been off a while."

Alex leans in to kiss him, checking the phone then pushing it on a shelf behind him, leaving it to charge. "Enough that I should probably answer some. Tomorrow, though. Later. At some point."

"But you're okay? With—"

"I love you," Alex says, which Michael isn't expecting. Alex shakes his head before kissing him and smiling at Michael with so much of that love that he feels grounded for it. "All of that, anything else, right now it doesn't matter. If _you're_ with me, then I'm okay. With _anything_."

Michael smiles, because how else is he supposed to respond to that? He reaches to turn out the light, then shuffles closer to Alex, closing his eyes as Alex sweeps his hand up his side. "I love you, too."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here's your [survey](https://forms.gle/smrYebDzPLaMaGyj8)!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here's chapter 24... how long is this thing going to get?!
> 
> **warnings** at the end if you want to check before reading.

Michael hears someone moving around the Airstream in the morning, momentarily forgetting Flint is with them. He relaxes when he remembers, though lifts his head to see what's going on. Flint freezes like he's been expecting him to, pausing while putting on his jacket. Is he leaving without planning on saying goodbye?

Flint's eyes fall to Alex beside him, tucked up close with Michael's arm thrown around his waist. His expression is soft, far softer than in any other moment since showing up here unannounced. Flint shakes his head like he's answering Michael's unvoiced question.

"I'll be back. Maybe twenty minutes," he says quietly, his eyes darting back to Alex as he gives a confused smile. 

Michael nods, watches him carefully and quietly creep out of the Airstream, thankful that Alex doesn't stir. He adjusts the cover over him for it having slipped from Alex's shoulder then snuggles closer, intending on sleep for a few minutes longer. 

He and Alex must really be relaxed. Neither of them hear Flint come back in, and it's Flint cursing under his breath for making a noise that wakes them; again Michael lifts his head to see him gripping on to a plate he just dropped. Alex's eyes fly open making Michael turn back to him, bending to kiss him on the forehead in reassurance. Alex sighs for it with a half-smile of thanks, though then frowns, his eyes falling closed even as he turns his head towards the noise.

"Flint?"

"I went for breakfast."

Alex's eyes snap open again, one eyebrow hitching up in a way that shouldn't be comical, yet still leaves Michael pressing his face into his pillow to hide it.

"Thanks, Flint," Michael says when Alex doesn't answer, squeezing him before sitting up and yawning. "What time is it?"

"A little after eight."

Alex huffs under his breath then sits up beside him, bleary-eyed and blinking with his hair on end. Michael _loves_ that look on him. Michael assumes he looks no better for the soft look Alex gives him before reaching out to brush his fingers through his curls.

"You got breakfast?" Alex says belatedly, yawning then running a hand over his face before snapping his head from side to side like he's trying to wake himself up.

"I did. I found breakfast burritos. Good ones," Flint adds with a smile for Alex that Michael decides there is a story behind. He'll ask about it later if he remembers.

Alex's eyebrow hitches up higher. "My idea of good? Or yours?"

Flint actually smiles harder, unfolding one of the burritos to inspect before wrapping it back up. "Well. We've got eggs. Sausage _and_ chorizo. Onions. And a ton of cheese. They also had hash browns."

Michael drops his head and snorts for how _alert_ Alex now is, knowing exactly how Alex feels about hash browns.

"Really?"

"I even got you extra," Flint adds, waving a bag that he unfolds and tips on to a plate; that is a _lot_ of hashbrowns. He picks up a couple to put on to one plate that already has a burrito on it then balances the rest of the plates between his hands, crossing the Airstream and lowering them to the end of their bed. He turns away only to come back with takeout cups of really good smelling coffee that he hands to them both without a word, already with a mouthful of hash brown.

"Thank you," Alex says as he pulls the plates closer to them. Michael's stomach rumbles for the sight of the mound of hash browns and very large breakfast burritos, smiling when Alex reaches to tickle his stomach before passing him a plate.

"Thank you for letting me stay," Flint says before taking a large bite out of his burrito; Michael knows that tactic for avoiding having to speak. He nods in thanks anyway before starting to eat his own, deciding that, right this moment, breakfast burritos might be the best invention ever.

Flint leans back against the counter as he eats. Michael wants to tell him to sit as he tucks into his own unexpected breakfast in far more comfort, though is fairly sure from the way he's leaning that Flint is happy enough where he is. The silence between them isn't too awkward either for them all filling their faces, though Michael does wonder what else they have to talk about when they're done. Preferably something that isn't incendiary. 

"So, I'm gonna head off," Flint says when their burritos are finished, and Alex is working through the last of the hash browns. "I told the base I'd be back tomorrow."

"It's a long drive back to Texas from here I'd think?" Alex says, covering his mouth and shrugging in apology for answering with his mouth full.

"I'll pull in, stop somewhere."

"And then?"

Flint shrugs too. "I don't know yet."

Michael half-expects Alex to ask him to keep in contact, though is also not surprised when he doesn't. They make small talk while they finish their coffee, and Michael is exasperated that neither their father nor the whole _alien_ issue gets mentioned. Flint waves in dismissal when Michael moves to stand to say goodbye, giving them both a tight smile and another thank you as he lets himself out. Michael stares at the door for a good few seconds before stacking up their plates and now-empty takeout coffee cups, pushing them all on to a shelf to his side.

"Well. I guess we didn't need to kick anyone out," he says half-joking, as he and Alex prop themselves up on pillows and sit back.

Alex only frowns at the door. "I've seen him more in the last few hours than I've seen him in years."

"Is that good? Bad?"

"It's _Flint_."

Once again Michael is exasperated by the Manes' siblings despite already knowing the mess their relationship is. He can't imagine not hearing from Max and Isobel for more than a day or two, and thinks he's messaged them more than ever since leaving Roswell. There is always a message waiting for him these days it seems, either on the group chat between the three of them when it's constant playful teasing and taunting, or the private messages with them both that feels like nothing but constant love and support. The thought of it makes Michael reach for his phone, smiling when Alex raises his arm for him to tuck under as he sends his first messages of the day.

"We could take a day; maybe a couple of days just for us," Alex says out of nowhere with a kiss to his temple, as Michael cuddles into his side. Michael pauses from writing to look at him.

"Yeah?"

Alex licks his lips, glancing over his face. "I think we deserve it. I know _you_ do. And since we don't even know what to do next, maybe a break from everything makes the most sense?"

The thought of a long stretch of hours when they don't need to do _anything_ is beautiful to Michael right now. "I'd like that."

Alex smiles, giving him a quick kiss before nodding to Michael's phone and turning his head to give him privacy. "Then, we'll do that."

"So… you wanna go somewhere, or—"

"Stay right here," Alex replies, squeezing Michael to him. "Maybe we can just sleep a little longer when you're done."

"Not answering all your messages from last night?" Michael asks, wondering how long it will take Alex to get back to however many messages he's had.

Alex groans as though the thought is a horrible one, turning his head to press another kiss to his temple. "Later. _Much_ later. Say hi for me?" he adds, once again nodding at Michael's phone. Michael likes the idea of that a lot, letting himself get carried away with the thought of Alex meeting Max and Isobel properly—as _his_. He turns his head for another kiss, earning himself a smile, taking his time to answer his siblings as Alex dozes beside him.

* * *

Alex taps Michael's hand gesturing to a park bench when he has his attention, his face turning towards the sun the moment he sits. Michael watches him as he settles, deciding that an Alex truly at peace is one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen. Even here in this beautiful park with the sun high in the sky and no need for them to be rushing anywhere, with all this scenery around them. 

"You doing okay?" Michael asks as he watches Alex turn his leg inspecting his foot.

"I think my sock twisted. It's not sitting right."

Michael flares his fingers for Alex to lift his leg, smiling when he turns and does it without question, taking his time to unlace Alex's boot. "How far do you think we walked today?" he asks as he loosens Alex's laces, securing one hand around the base of his prosthetic and carefully tugging off the boot. Alex doesn't flinch, doesn't even glance around them to check no one is watching. 

"I don't think all that far? It's not like we've been rushing, even if we did."

Alex's sock is bunched up at the heel of his prosthetic; no wonder it doesn't feel right. Michael tugs it up, checking the elastic of it, and when happy, puts on and relaces Alex's boot. "That okay?"

"I think so." Though instead of Alex dropping his leg back down to test it, he swings his other leg up to lie across Michael's lap. Michael rests a hand on Alex's calf and throws his arm over the back of the park bench, more thankful than he can say for this moment of calm.

Their entire morning has been calm. Sleeping after Michael sent his messages, waking unhurried in each other's arms, indulging in kisses and the laziest handjobs of his life for neither of them wanting to move too much; it's been a perfect morning. One not without discoveries either; for instance, they have learned that the Airstream shower really is designed only for one person, and that the bathroom acoustics are pretty good if either of them wants to sing. This they found out after attempting to squash into the cubicle together and having to take turns, Alex sitting on the toilet seat lid while Michael took furst turn and singing along to the radio they'd turned up loud in the kitchen so they could hear it. 

That they've been carefree and silly, and actually made themselves leave the Airstream instead of staying in bed like they probably would have done in the past, is _exciting_ to Michael. It gives him renewed hope that him and Alex are going to have _everything_ they never thought would be theirs to have.

"When my mom still lived with us, we used to come to parks like this for picnics," Alex says then, when their attention is taken by a gust of wind making a picnic blanket give a violent wave just a few feet away from them.

Michael watches the family's antics to retrieve their things—done in seconds, otherwise he would have gone to help them—then studies Alex's face for his words, smiling when he looks at him. "Oh, yeah?"

"Once, when I was really small, I remember trying to chase Robert, and him just always being out of reach. Harry picked me up when I tripped over the picnic blanket and wouldn't stop screaming for hitting my knee. Made me sit in his lap," Alex adds with a wistful, confused smile of memory.

"And Flint?" 

Alex's mouth twists into a grimace. "Following my Dad? Dad never really liked these picnics. Whenever we went, he'd disappear somewhere—this time I'm thinking of, with Flint, so they could skim stones across a pond. Honestly? It was better when he was working, when we were all just there with Mom. Flint never—he stayed with us when Dad wasn't there."

"You ever do stuff just with your Dad? With your brothers, I mean."

"Does training to be little soldiers count?" Alex retorts, rolling his eyes, absently resting his hand on Michael's arm. "No. Not really. He wanted to do stuff with Robert, and Harry, mostly. I think maybe Flint saw that, and felt left out, so always tried to force the issue. I was the only one who Dad didn't do anything with, or go anywhere alone with. Which was fine by _me_."

Michael purses his lips together, not wanting to push, though not wanting to brush things off. "Really?"

Alex sags, nodding. "I _was_ fine with it. I think initially, I was like Flint? Upset that Dad only really spoke to me to bark orders, or tell me when I did something wrong. But maybe a year after Mom left, I just got used to it. I _preferred_ it, really. I spent more time trying to avoid spending time with him than anything else."

Michael doesn't know when _his_ anger for Jesse Manes might fade, sure it's only being reinforced for everything he learns about Alex's dad. He squeezes Alex's leg, not sure how he's supposed to respond.

"When I first joined the Air Force—like, I don't even think I'd got through basic training? Dad put the house up for sale, moved into this one-bedroomed place, so it was pretty obvious none of us could go _home_. I didn't have all that much stuff, but, it was _mine_, you know? And I couldn't exactly go back; not in the middle of training. Maria and Mimi went to the house when I told them. Boxed up my room, stored it all at theirs. Did you know theirs was my postal address until I came back this time?" Alex adds with a rueful smile, his gaze drifting back out over the park. "I fully expected I'd be crashing on their couch, or even maybe in Liz's old room when I came back—before I _knew_ Liz was back, obviously. And when I came back to find the deeds to Jim Valenti's cabin—"

"Your cabin now," Michael points out, smiling when Alex looks.

"Right. _My_ cabin. But I hadn't even really put any thought into it. I thought, between maybe sleeping on the base, and at Maria's, I'd… figure out what to do next. Somewhere to live."

"You didn't think you could stay with me?" Michael asks, curious, and mildly wounded that Alex wouldn't have him as his first choice. He gets it, of course, as much as he doesn't.

Alex gives him a sadder smile, leaning in to kiss him, dislodging his legs from Michael's lap as he does. "I thought you'd be gone. Really. You kept talking about leaving Roswell. And the last time I saw you before I came back, we'd argued. _Again_. You never said anything in your letters, or anything, because we never really talked about _home_, but… I assumed you'd left. Which is stupid. I know you'd never leave Isobel and Max."

Michael pictures a life where he'd put himself before anyone else, gone off on a roadtrip alone, then to college, and then to wherever the world took him. A tiny part of him aches for never letting himself have that life, but then he wouldn't be where he was now, would he? "I left for you," he points out, which earns Michael Alex sliding across the bench and throwing his arms over his shoulders in a lazy stretch, kissing him slow and unhurried, uncaring about who might be around to see. 

"That's _different_," Alex whispers against his mouth when he pulls back, smiling as he cups his face in one hand.

"Oh, yeah? How is that _different_?"

"I… have no good answer."

"Do you have a _bad_ answer?" Michael asks, already laughing for the playfulness on Alex's face. He _loves_ it when he's silly for no good reason.

"Nope. No answer. No words."

"Talking an awful lot for someone with no words, Alex," Michael points out, closing his eyes when Alex kisses him again. His fingers are through his curls, and Alex doesn't feel like he's in any hurry to let go of him. Michael isn't sure how he got this _lucky_, but holds on just as tight. 

Alex's smile for him when he pulls back is bright, and peaceful. "All I know, is that I am grateful, beyond anything, that you _did_ follow me." 

"Anytime."

"Well. Maybe not _any time_. Maybe the next time we go off somewhere, it won't be looking for… you know. People being held against their will."

Michael sighs, nodding. What they are on the road for couldn't stay from their conversation for long. Though he really doesn't want to talk about it right now. "Well. Maybe our next big adventure can be something a little more… sedate; you're right." Though then Michael is hit by another idea for a _big adventure_ that he aches for, and wants more than anything. A home with Alex that is theirs, that neither of them has to run from. A place for them where they can shut the world out and welcome in only those they love the most. One day, he tells himself, pressing a long kiss to Alex's cheek, one day they'll get that.

* * *

Michael wakes to kisses to the back of his neck, smiling for the nuzzle just behind his ear. He woke a couple of hours ago to use the bathroom, leaving Alex muttering in his sleep and pawing at him not to leave. When he'd returned to bed Alex was spread eagle, with a smug smile on his face in sleep and whatever he was dreaming about obviously… _entertaining_, judging from the look of him. Michael had curled up in the crook of Alex's arm facing away from him, stifling giggles behind his hand for the noises he was making to himself. He's not even sure now why it had been so funny at the time, but Alex's kisses as he strokes his hand languidly down his side reminds him of it, and Michael is grinning to himself all over again.

"Morning, Alex," he says, pressing back against him, keeping his eyes screwed up tight for the hand immediately on his chest that then sweeps down and wraps around his cock.

"Morning."

"Good dream, huh?"

Michael feels Alex smile against his shoulder, turning a little when guided to so Alex can easier take him in hand. He's _always_ been so quick to respond to Alex's touch, cracking his eyes open to watch himself thickening already as he slips between Alex's fingers.

"I was dreaming?" Alex asks.

"I'd say so."

"What was I doing?"

"I have no idea. But I'm thinking that you _liked_ it."

Alex doesn't answer, only ruts against him so Michael can feel how hard he is already, and tugs on his hip so he'll roll back towards him. Michael is happy to oblige, stroking his hand up Alex's side straight into his hair to pull him into a kiss.

"You been awake long?" Michael asks between kisses, moving as Alex's guides him to so he has more room.

"Not really."

"You sure about that?" The scent of their shower gel clings to Alex's skin, and his pupils are dilated, like he's been _planning_ things with him for a while. It is of no surprise to Michael that when he strokes his hand down Alex's back and rests it on his ass, Alex arches back on to it. It _is_ a surprise when he trails a finger between his cheeks to find slickness there. "Um?"

"We went to bed early last night, to watch a _movie_," Alex says, now urging Michael to crawl between his legs; something he doesn't object to at _all_. Alex grins up at him when he does, though then pretends to pout. "I feel _cheated_."

"Cheated, huh?" Michael says, adjusting on his knees and taking himself in hand for a couple of quick strokes—that Alex watches greedily and parts his legs further for.

"_Yes_."

"What did we do when we got back here yesterday afternoon?" Michael teases, clenching to feel the slight ache in him still, and jolting for it. 

"Yes, but that was _hours_ ago," Alex insists, _really_ pouting now, though with a glint of amusement in his eyes that makes Michael drop his face against his chest and laugh before kissing there.

"And here was me thinking we were being all _sensible_."

"Can we be sensible _later_?"

"Still," Michael says, stroking his fingers down over Alex's skin, teasing his fingers over his cock. "We're in no hurry, right?" 

"Michael—"

Michael curls his fingers around the base of Alex's cock ducking down to suck him into his mouth. He closes his eyes for the taste of him, sure for the flood of precum into his mouth that Alex has been thinking about this for a while. Or maybe he just woke up horny from his dream; either way Michael isn't complaining. Though he does intend to savor Alex a little longer. 

Alex's fingers curl through his hair as he arches beneath him, stuttering and gasping for every lick and suck Michael gives. Michael slips his fingers into him for Alex having already lubed himself up, an ache of _want_ firing through him for the way Alex tries to writhe down on them. Isn't this the _best_ way to be waking up?

"You doing okay?" he teases, lapping over Alex's cock head as he crooks a finger in him, tapping against his prostate exactly how he knows he likes. Alex only groans in answer, his arms falling prone to the bed, and, when Michael looks, pressing his head back hard in his pillow. Michael knows fresh _need_ when Alex raises his head again to stare at him, glassy-eyed and open-mouthed.

"_Please…_"

He needs to be in him, _now_. Michael adjusts on his knees again as he holds Alex open, trying to make himself wait as he presses into him. He can't, not for that beautiful heat engulfing him, nor for the noises falling from Alex's lips as he does. Michael topples forward, pressing kisses into Alex's neck, savoring the feel of Alex clenching around him. He props himself on one arm above Alex's head, tangling his free hand through Alex's against their pillows. Alex's grin for him is triumphant before he angles his face up for a kiss.

They move together unhurried, as perfect as they've always been together, knowing everything they both want, and need. Michael teases him with almost-kisses, Alex whining in protest when he keeps missing his mouth. Though then Alex throws his legs around his waist, the angle change feeling really, _really_ good, and his look for Michael when he groans for it is one of revenge. The _best_ kind.

Michael stirs his hips extra slow, Alex trying to roll up beneath him to hurry him up. "Nope. _Slow_. We have all morning. Longer, actually." He doesn't mean it at all, wants to bury himself in Alex and fuck him until they're both boneless, but for the indignant look on Alex's face, his teasing is worth it. He even stops moving altogether, spearing Alex open but not filling him, which really _does_ make Alex whine. "_What?_"

Michael laughs for Alex dropping his legs, grabbing him by the waist, and man-handling him on to his back. Alex straddles his lap, reaching back to hold himself open, immediately sinking down on Michael's cock. Michael groans for _that_, pressing his feet into the bed for leverage as Alex begins to move. He splays his hands over Alex's thighs, moving where he needs him to help him balance, then lies back and enjoys the view. Alex writhing in his lap with abandon, taking everything he needs? Well, good morning to _me_, Michael thinks, before lazily wrapping his fingers around Alex's cock to give him something to thrust up into.

Alex splays his hands on Michael's thighs leaning back, drawing Michael's gaze to the way he fills him. He's not going to last long with Alex looking and feeling like this, aching pleasure building in him that he stirs his hips to chase, trying to hold back. Alex's breath starts coming out in desperate pants as he rides him harder, whining when he looks down at Michael's hand on him. And with a surprise whimper, he falls forward, his hands gripping to Michael's shoulders and groaning as he spills over his hand. Michael thrusts up into him only twice more before he's coming himself, with one hand splayed wide on Alex's thigh to keep him in place as he does.

Alex lifts his head to look at him with a sleepy, satisfied smile, bending for a kiss before pulling off Michael and flopping over on his back with groan. He raises his head to look at the mess he's made over Michael's chest, holding on to Michael's leg for balance as he stretches for a box of tissues they'd brought to bed yesterday. There are more kisses and peals of soft laughter to follow as they clean each other up, Michael convinced that there is _nothing_ better than this. And when they're done, Alex wriggles against the bed so Michael knows to move, resting his head on Alex's chest and faling asleep in his arms.

* * *

"Do you know how messages I had from people telling me they were sorry to hear about my dad?" Alex says as Michael wanders back through from a shower, still towel-drying his hair. News travels fast, apparently; Jesse Manes has only been gone a few days.

"I don't know. Lots?"

"_Too_ many," Alex says, tossing his phone in frustration and moving further up the couch, patting for Michael to join him. "I didn't even know that many people had my number."

"Are they all Air Force people?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Well. It's _good_ that they're thinking of you, I guess?" Michael says even if he doesn't mean it. He's fairly sure it's public knowledge just how bad the relationship was between Alex and Jesse. And if _he's_ uncomfortable for people contacting Alex out of nowhere despite knowing that, then Alex must feel terrible.

"I don't like that so many people I know he must have _blackmailed_, or whatever, have _my_ details. I won't be using this phone again when I transfer the numbers over."

Michael toys with the phone now on the table abandoned, spinning it with his fingers. "Well, yeah. I don't think I'd like that either."

"Even _Daniel_ messaged about him," Alex says, groaning, and knocking his head against Michael's shoulder. "Though, I guess with _him_, it's just… I don't know what to think, actually."

_Daniel_, Michael thinks, racking his brain for the sort-of familiar name, going over his and Alex's conversations. He puts two and two together, stiffening for remembering someone Alex served with that he _assumes_ from what he'd said about him, he was _intimate _with. "Daniel?"

"I mentioned him a while ago. One of the guys I—"

"Okay," Michael says quickly, He hates that he has to cover up the spark of anger he feels for the apparent confirmation of that _intimacy_ with a smile he knows doesn't quite reach his eyes. Alex looks at him curiously. Michael only nudges him in the side.

"He came to see me at the hospital, with my leg," Alex says after a too-long pause of just looking at him. Michael feels that anger wicking through him and tries to ignore it.

"Well. That's good? I think?"

"It was," Alex agrees, frowning to himself. "I was starting my physical therapy. I was angry, couldn't sleep, was probably a bastard to be around."

"I'm sure you weren't."

"Oh. I was," Alex tells him with a rueful smile before kissing his shoulder. "I had a few visitors, amazing care, but I was just really _miserable_. And lonely, I guess. It was good to see a familiar face. Even if he did confirm what I'd expected for a while."

Michael drops his hand to squeeze Alex's thigh, wanting to listen to him and wanting his irrational fury to piss off. "And what's that?"

Alex licks his lips, looking back at him uncertainly before squaring his shoulders like he intends to get whatever he has to say out. "We weren't anything serious. I don't know how anyone really maintains any kind of relationship that's _serious_ when they're serving like that; side by side, anyway. There's too much at stake. But we cared about each other, and I guess my Dad had eyes everywhere. He got to Daniel. Daniel told me when he came to see me in the hospital."

Michael doesn't quite get what he's saying. "Got to him?"

"Doing what my Dad does best. Blackmail. He had Daniel reporting back to him on _me_. One day, we were just how we always were around one another, and then something shifted, and he changed. I should have known," Alex adds with a wistful smile to himself.

Michael knows new anger, hating this _Daniel_ for ever doing _anything_ to upset Alex. Or doing anything _with_ Alex… "So. Let me get this straight. You two were together—"

"Not really _together_—"

"Fine. You were _fuckbuddies_," Michael says, growling the word out. He is incensed at just the thought of it, and hates how hypocritical that makes him. "And, what; he used that to… what did he tell Jesse about you?"

"I don't think he _used_ that," Alex tells him gently, as though he can see the jealousy that's surging through him now. Yes, Michael thinks to himself, acknowledging it, he _is_ jealous. He _detests_ the thought of Alex with anybody else.

"Then, what?"

"Dad wanted to keep tabs on me. On my missions, my work, when I took leave; everything. And obviously, I'm no _angel_, but there was nothing Dad—or anyone—could get on me. It didn't matter what Daniel reported back to him, because there wasn't anything to tell." 

Michael is still angry at this _Daniel_; for all sorts of reasons. He only nods, because he doesn't trust himself to talk.

"Daniel apologised for all of it, obviously," Alex continues. "I can't really blame anyone Dad got to. I don't know how many people there must be out there he's had a hold over, who must be relieved he's gone."

"It's pretty weird to think that the only power your Dad had all these years was having dirt on other people, to get what he wanted," Michael says, glad to see Jesse diminishing even further in his eyes.

"It's pretty hilarious," Alex says, laughing. "He always made me believe he was this important figure, in like, the _world_, with all of these contacts. When all he really was, was a gossip. A manipulative, condascending gossip."

"Who can't hurt anyone anymore, with his _gossip_," Michael adds, for not being able to shift the image of Jesse breaking his hand. _That_ was a whole lot more than gossip. He's fantasised so many times about squaring up to Jesse as an adult when he could more easily fight back.

"Exactly. I was surprised Daniel even messaged to give condolences for him," Alex says. "I just thought everyone would… I don't know. I just thought that if anyone would be contacted about him, it would be Robert. Maybe Harry, or Flint."

Michael squeezes his thigh in solidarity.

"Daniel normally only messages with really bad memes, or puns," Alex adds, picking up his phone and letting out something between a laugh and groan as he scrolls through, then turning it for Michael to see. "_Look_."

Michael tells himself that Alex so openly showing him his messages from _Daniel_ should be enough to stop him feeling like he does. It doesn't help at _all_, putting more tension in his spine. "I didn't realise you were still in regular contact with him."

"I wouldn't say _regular_. Some, yes. Not so often that he was aware I'd stopped answering my old phone, though. I guess we spoke last a week or so before I left Roswell."

Michael still doesn't like it. He drops his head in Alex's neck and groans there, before sitting back up and forcing himself to make eye contact. "Not that this is any of my business, or that I expect you to do anything about this—because I _don't_—but this is… I _feel_ something about this, Alex."

"About what?" Alex says, shaking his head.

"You. And _him_."

"There is no _me and him_. There never really was. We only—"

"Nope," Michael says, shuddering as he laughs, and turning to hug Alex to him tight. He presses a kiss to his shoulder and waits for the latest surge of jealousy to settle in him. "I'm sorry, Alex. But the thought of you with _him_—anyone, I guess—I'm not doing great with. I don't think I'll _ever_ do great with. I'm _jealous_," Michael blurts out when Alex nudges him back so he has to look at him, loathing the feel of the heat that flushes up his throat and over his face.

Alex's face ripples with amusement even if he tries not to show it, tries to hide it behind the affection he's also showing for him. 

"I know I shouldn't be," Michael adds when Alex doesn't say anything. "And I'm _sorry_ for it. But—"

Alex kisses him, smiling against his mouth so Michael knows he's having trouble not laughing. Michael feels _silly_ for how he's feeling, but when Alex looks at him with so much love, that _silly_ feeling drops away. Michael cups Alex's face between his hands, dropping his forehead against Alex's before kissing him. Alex wraps his arms around his neck, though then laughs when Michael moves suddenly to straddle his lap. Instead he rests his hands on Michael's thighs as he settles, before sneaking his hands beneath Michael's shirt. 

"I _think_ I might understand something about jealousy, Michael," Alex tells him, splaying his hands wide over his chest. "I just hope you realise you don't need to be."

"I know."

"_Really_," Alex insists, tapping thumbs against him. "You don't. And," he adds, angling up to be kissed, "I know _I_ don't need to be, either."

"No. You really _don't_." Michael hopes that if Alex has found the time to respond to _Daniel_, then he's also found the time to talk to Maria as well. And Liz, of course, but things with Maria—

"Which means _you_ don't need to be off with _Kyle_," Alex adds with a twinkle of mirth in his eye. Michael wants to grumble for it, to deny he's _ever_ felt anything about Kyle other than constant disdain. Alex knows otherwise, grinning at him in triumph before tilting his chin for another kiss and smiling against his mouth.

"Doesn't mean I have to be anything other than _polite_, though," Michael says, even though Kyle has been the best of friends to Alex, and it's Kyle who clued him in to Alex leaving in the first place. He owes a lot to _Kyle Valenti_, Michael realises, loathing the idea. Though how can he be worrying about that now when Alex is kissing him, and there is not a thing he ever intends to let come between them again?

* * *

"I don't think I can eat anything else."

Michael has already been defeated, but seeing Alex look mournfully at his unfinished lemon tart and push back in his seat makes him laugh. He takes a sip of his beer even though he too feels full to bursting, holding his hand out across the table. "I'm impressed you finished that much. That steak was, like, half an actual cow."

"It was good steak," Alex says, immediately sitting forward to slot his fingers through Michael's and resting his other hand on his stomach.

"And the fries?"

"Amazing."

"Onion rings?" Michael adds, winking in tease. Alex laughs, taking both of Michael's hands between his own. 

"I was _hungry_. And that was _your_ fault."

Michael grins, giving a half shrug for his accusation. It's not _his_ fault Alex looked the way he did in his first choices of clothes for dinner. It's also not like he hasn't seen that particular shirt on him a few times, but for Alex deliberately wearing one he knows Michael likes for their _dinner_ date, how else was he supposed to react?

"Well. We needed to work up an appetite after that."

"Exactly. So, no mocking me for the _onion rings_."

"Hey. I'm not mocking you for _anything_," Michael says, rugging Alex's hand up so he can kiss the back of it. Alex's eyes light up for the gesture, and Michael decides he's falling in love with him all over again. Which might be because of how sleepy he is for far too much food and a beautiful but long day of indulgence between them, but also might not be.

"Well, good."

"Honestly, though. I don't think I can _move_."

"Well. We don't have to rush back."

"We could _walk_ back," Michael says even though he doesn't mean it. They're not far from the RV park really, but after being separated from the truck because of _Flint's_ handiwork, Michael doesn't like the idea of leaving it anywhere out of sight. Alex knows that too for not responding with much more than a shrug. "We'll wait a little while."

Though they don't wait for long, since Alex suggests they drive for a little while before returning to the Airstream. With Alex tucked into his side in the truck driving slow enough so it's safe to glance up at the occasional star or around them at whatever gets their attention, Michael feels like he's won every prize. 

They even stop to do nothing but _kiss_, Alex pulling Michael across the seat to him the moment he cuts off the engine like they haven't kissed in _weeks_, instead of probably less than an hour. It occurs to Michael that all of these moments might be their way of reclaiming the years they lost keeping _them_ hidden, even if neither of them has said as much out loud. So he peppers in all the _I love yous_ and other affectionate words he can get, because why not go overboard if they're making up for lost time? Alex smiles for every one of them, replying with his own words that both make Michael's heart race and pricks tears in his eyes.

There is a black SUV parked up right outside the Airstream when they arrive back, both of them giving each other a look in warning. Alex's nod is imperceptible, silently preparing to climb out and be ready for anything as quickly as possible. Michael watches the transformation from _his_ Alex to _soldier_ Alex no longer feeling he won't snap right back into place again, giving him an encouraging smile as he rests his hand on the door handle. 

There is a tall, thickly-set bald man leaning against the SUV, who watches them in interest when he looks up from his phone. He keeps his eyes on them as he locks the phone, which he slides into his back pocket as he stands more upright, stretching like he's been waiting a while.

"Good dinner?" the man asks the moment they're out of the truck, making no effort to move any further, and giving what Michael thinks is supposed to be a friendly smile. 

Alex squares his shoulders as he stands very slightly in front of Michael though still by his side. The man's eyes dart between them still with open curiosity and Michael convinces himself he feels no hostility from him. 

"Alex," the man says, coming to a stop in front of them, seeming even larger for being up close. "I'm Jonathan. I don't suppose you remember me?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings** so _maybe_ there's a little sex in this chapter. Maybe.
> 
> Here's your [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSc_LLWGPuJ7GQ_afmQY8hBLFA1-s08a3fZmSsP_sgkJKUNfFw/viewform)! It's a long one and might end up shaping things for the next couple of chapters. In fact, it will shape just how much longer we have to go! So choose wisely!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I make no apologies for what the outcome of your survey answers has led to...

Michael watches Alex shake his head and presses firmer into his side, even if he tells himself he doesn't sense any kind of _threat_. Jonathan nods in understanding, which helps a little.

"Well. I guess you were pretty young when I saw you last, so, I guess you wouldn't. I came for—"

"Thanksgiving," Alex finishes for him with a clipped tone of mistrust as his face morphs into an expression of recognition. "A couple of times. The first time, the year after my mom left."

"Right," Jonathan says. There is nothing in his posture to help Michael get a real feel for his personality, or to help him figure out who this _Jonathan_ might be. As though Jonathan is aware of that he turns his gaze to Michael before looking back to Alex in expectation. "Not gonna introduce me?"

"I barely know you myself. I don't even remember anything about you."

"Well. I worked with your dad. On Project Shepherd," Jonathan adds with a rueful burst of laughter, "which, I suppose, doesn't paint me in a very good light in your eyes."

Alex stands taller, moving a fraction to shield Michael more. "No. It really doesn't."

"Would it make any difference if I told you I haven't even _seen_ your dad since maybe a year after the last Thanksgiving I came to?"

"Not much."

Jonathan nods as though he is expecting this answer. "Unfortunately, there aren't too many people like _Jesse Manes_ in my line of work, those that gain a sense of… enjoyment, or empowerment from doing what we do. That isn't what any of this is about; not really. And I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I'm not shedding any tears over him being gone."

"So you're one of the good guys, huh?" Michael says, lacking any kind of trust for Jonathan himself just for hearing the words _Project Shepherd_. Jonathan gives him a once-over that makes Michael want to flinch, or retreat. Which he won't.

"I don't know if there is anyone in my line of work you'd think of as _good_. Though, yeah. I hope I'm better than some. At least, I try to be."

"Why are you here?" Alex asks, still with a rod of stiffness in his spine.

"Followed your brother. Figured he'd seek you out eventually, after your handiwork at Caulfield. I had some business to attend to here; otherwise, I'd have shown my face a couple days before now."

Michael feels sick for the thought of them being watched and being unaware of it, and knows anger at Flint for leading Jonathan here. Alex feels similarly, apparently, judging from the way he squares his shoulders a touch more.

"Anyway." Jonathan nods towards the Airstream. "Don't suppose we can talk in there?"

It's their _home_, their sanctity away from all of this. Michael wants to refuse, though knows that he can't; not for whatever it is Jonathan is about to reveal. He still waits for Alex to be the one to nod in agreement then lead them up the steps and inside.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No thanks, Alex," Jonathan replies, looking around him in interest, making the Airstream feel cramped for taking up so much room. "Looks good."

"Michael did it."

"Do you want to sit?"

Jonathan follows the wave of Michael's arm, sitting on the end of one of the couches and looking enormous for it, watching as Michael and Alex sit opposite. "So. I'll make this quick. It's getting late, and I don't know about you, but I want to get _some_ sleep this evening."

Depending on what he has to say to them, Michael doesn't think there is much chance he and Alex will sleep at all. Though he doesn't say that out loud, only throws his arm around Alex's waist to keep him close.

"I don't know what kind of crusade you think you're on, Alex? But you're in way, way over your head. Both of you."

It's not news. Michael has been realizing this more and more over the past few days. It's still almost a relief to hear someone else say it out loud; not that it helps them any.

"Why don't we talk about what _you're_ doing, instead of what we aren't?"

"Aren't?" Jonathan repeats in answer to Alex, mild mockery in his tone. "You don't call sneaking into countless military facilities nothing, now, do you? I might've only just found you, but that doesn't mean I couldn't backtrace your steps. First thing about all of this you learn, is to be _stealthy_. _Discreet_, at least. Which, I'll give you, you're far better at than your brother. But you still didn't exactly cover your tracks."

"That didn't answer my question," Alex replies without flinching, which Jonathan seems to appreciate for the way he smiles.

"Oh. But you _know_ what I'm doing."

"Not specifically."

Jonathan nods, calm and considering, which only serves to put Michael further on edge. "We could start with what you _do_ know."

"If you're going to come here, thinking that we'll tell you what we've already found out for ourselves, see where it matches up with your work, you're wrong."

Michael _almost_ wants to ask Alex to keep calmer than he is being, sure the raising of his voice is not going to do them any favors. He doesn't though, only presses firmer into Alex's side.

"Okay. Then let's see what same pages we're on," Jonathan replies with an easy shrug. "Over the years—more accurately, you could say over the centuries—we have been visited by people from other worlds." Michael really doesn't like the way Jonathan's gaze fixes on him, knowing without needing to ask that he knows about _him_. He doesn't breathe again until Jonathan drags his gaze back to Alex's. "Governments have invested in these things for years—investigating the alien life that comes here—though not with any real sense of coordination, or organization. Then, mid-1800s, we _did_ organize; here in America, at least. A small branch of government in conjunction with various agencies was formed specifically to investigate these _visitors_, and their unfortunate crashes."

"Unfortunate?" Alex repeats. "Meaning, you had a hand in _helping_ them crash?"

"A couple," Jonathan admits, though doesn't elaborate. "Of course, this has all been classified, kept in the strictest of confidence. Those personnel involved tend not to have much in the way of family, since we can't exactly share this with the outside world. And those _with_ family, are either like your _father_, or soon find themselves _without_ any family." Which to Michael feels like a _threat_.

"Why not? Why can't you tell the _outside world_?" Alex asks.

"Potential technology. Medical advances. Keeping ourselves as the dominant power in this world, while protecting our people from the threat of those from others. And can you even imagine the public all knowing about the existence of aliens?" Jonathan asks with a slight rise of laughter in his voice. "There would be pandemonium, at _best_."

"You don't have much faith in the general public, huh?" Michael says.

Jonathan fixes him with a smile that makes his blood run cold. "Do you?" When Michael can't answer, Jonathan continues to speak. "We assume that those who have come here out of curiosity, or perhaps with designs on future colonization, must have similar planets and atmospheres to ours. Nothing of yet has been like anything you'd really see in any Hollywood blockbuster. Not one of them has been _green_, for a start."

"Meaning, they all look just like us?" Alex asks, still full of mistrust.

"Well. They're mostly like us; some have, I guess we can say, additional features. Larger eyes, smaller mouths in some cases. But most of the differences we see are internal, or sensory. Yes; the vast majority look just like us—like _you_ do," Jonathan says with a nod to Michael. Everything in Michael's world _stops_.

"How did you know—"

"Most look kind of similar, but you know something is _different_ about them," Jonathan continues to say despite Alex's interruption. Alex squeezes his hand around Michael's thigh in reassurance, but Michael doesn't think much could reassure him right now. "I assume those from similar galaxies to ours, with similar solar systems and patterns of evolution would look like us. Others theorize that some species adapt to wherever they are, their environment and what not, meaning alien visitors could look like _anything_ but learn to look like us. I've seen some things in my years, but I don't hold much stock in that theory myself."

"The physiology we saw in those files in—"

"Like I said, Alex. Most we've come across—most that've come _here_—they're mostly the same as us, as much as they can be. Pretty harmless. Honestly? The biggest security threat we ever really had was an invasion of alien plant species back in 1965. Some spores must've got out from the air or something in their ships, in a crash in some woods in Kecksberg; took us _weeks_ to get it under control. They've been trying to synthesize the plant's growth patterns for thinking it could be useful in medicines, or as some kind of bandaging for wounds, but as yet, nothing much has come of it. It's basically just a giant weed."

"If the biggest security threat you've ever had from aliens is _plants_, then why are you experimenting on these people in the first place?" Michael is livid. The thought of all those _tests_, all the insinuation of them being _threats_, and for what?

"Wouldn't you want to investigate a new species, see if they can help us in any way?"

"Uh, no. I wouldn't."

"I suppose you're a little too close to this to think rationally."

"Neither would I," Alex adds, waving his hand.

Jonathan gives Alex a look which might be curiosity, but Michael also thinks might be disdain. "Yes. Well, perhaps if you were still serving—"

"I _wouldn't_," Alex repeats, far sterner.

"Which is why this isn't the life for you," Jonathan replies, with a flash of disappointment in his eyes. "Your dad was right to keep you out of it. This isn't work for the faint-hearted."

"This isn't anything to do with being faint of heart. It's about—"

"It's about things bigger than your understanding. This is about being prepared for whatever the future is going to bring; whether that be interplanetary, or global, or whatever threat faces us next. Some of the technology we've seen from off-planet we've put to work across the world, making a difference—to _humanity_. There is no singular more important task than the one we're performing."

Jonathan really believes this. Michael can tell he does from the conviction in his expression, and the ease with which he talks. He wants to leave, wants Jonathan and whatever organization he's working with to disappear from existence. He can't have either of those things so just _waits_, watching how this conversation is going to play out.

"If that's true, why are you here? What could you possibly have to say to me?" Alex asks after a long pause that says he needs time to process Jonathan's words.

Jonathan watches them in silence before answering, the calmness of his expression dropping a touch. "I'm not saying every decision that's been made has been a good one. Choices have been made that—there are things I have been a part of that I will regret to the end of my days. I did what had to be done, what I thought had to be done. Though the benefit of having the time to ponder these things in the aftermath tells me things could have been done differently. Far differently. I suppose I have your father to thank for that," Jonathan adds with a rueful smile. "Seeing what he did to his own colleague, what evil men are capable of; I suppose that was an eye-opener for me. I can't undo what's been done. And I still think there is a lot of important work to be done. But in some cases at least, I think, change is needed."

"How many aliens are being held?" Michael asks. Jonathan only observes him cooly.

"Are they still being experimented on?" Alex asks, when Jonathan doesn't say anything.

"Not now. At least, to my awareness they aren't. Even I don't have security clearance for everything."

"So, where do you come in?" Alex asks, nodding towards him. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to tell you that you're in over your head."

"You already said that."

"And I assume you weren't listening the first time," Jonathan retorts in answer to Alex, though without malice. "This is far bigger than you can even comprehend. There are forces at work here that, even with your experience, your knowledge, you can't even begin to understand. And the danger you could put yourselves in—both of you," Jonathan adds with a pointed look at Michael. "Alex. You really shouldn't get personally involved."

"I'm _already_ personally involved," Alex replies, squeezing Michael's thigh again. "After what I saw at Caulfield. After knowing the lengths my father would go to—"

"Your father had the potential to be something wonderful," Jonathan replies, cutting him off. "Though in the end, it was his own prejudice, his own _fear_, sense of self-importance, and need for control, that led him down a path he had no way back from."

Michael can think of about a hundred other ways to describe Jesse Manes than _wonderful_, but won't. "So. You're telling us not to get involved, when you know we already are. You're telling us this is bigger than we can imagine, and basically to back off, and yet you're still _here_. Why?"

Jonathan again takes his time to answer, once more directing his reply to Alex. "There is a facility. Strictly speaking, there are a lot of facilities dotted around the place. This is one of the bigger ones though. Most are only for occasional use, or are obsolete, empty shells where operations used to be performed—military, medically. Which you already know, don't you? All this digging around you've been doing?"

"Where is this _facility_?" Alex asks, still unflinching.

"Wisconsin."

Alex pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbing at the screen. "So, about seven hours from here?"

"If we go direct."

"What's in this facility?" Michael asks, his heart already in his throat.

"Detainees."

"Alien detainees?"

Jonathan nods. Alex stiffens beside Michael.

"From where?" Michael asks, setting off a chain reaction of _guilt_ in him. If they're from Antar he is bound by a sense of duty to help them. Though if they're _not_, does that make them of less importance to him? Of less value to be saved? He can't think like that.

"Why are they being detained?" Alex asks.

"They've served their purpose. Now, we just… _house_ them," Jonathan says, and for the first time, Michael thinks he sees a flicker of the _distaste_ Jonathan might feel for certain aspects of his job.

"Meaning, you've done your _tests_ on them," Michael says, ready to strike out. It infuriates him that Jonathan doesn't so much as blink.

"Honestly? What I have the most difficulty with, what I can stomach the least, is that we _keep_ them. Long after they've stopped being _useful_ to us."

"So, they're, what; indefinitely incarcerated?" Alex asks. What is the alternative, Michael thinks in horror; how many aliens have been killed for outliving their usefulness to cover up what the _government_ has been doing to them?

Jonathan's expression doesn't falter. "Something like that."

"And what's your part in this?" Michael asks, when Alex doesn't. The hatred currently churning through him needs some kind of justification; he almost wants to beg Jonathan to give him it, so he can lash out.

"Let's just say, that in the past, I've helped facilitate their… extraction. Tried to find them better ways to spend the rest of their lives."

"Doing what?"

"Living," Jonathan says. "I can't set them up with much, and I haven't helped as many as I would have liked; I don't have access to the resources. But I can make it so the ones I do help, they can live in relative comfort for the rest their lives. Or at least let them live outside of a facility. Get them social security, housing, jobs, even. Not for all; some are beyond that kind of help. But I do what I can, when I can."

"I don't get what you _want_ here," Michael says already itching to be out there and… what? What can he do? What does he want? Michael doesn't know, but _does_ know he should be doing _something_.

"What _I_ want?"

"You come here, saying you know we've been looking. You know what we're looking for. You say you're part of it, and also not part of it, with this _facilitating_ escapes, or whatever it is you say you're doing. What do you gain from all of this?"

"Gain?" Jonathan repeats, with a sharp shake of his head.

"You can't be here out of some selfless act," Alex says, taking over from Michael. "So, what do you want?"

"I wanted to help you."

"Help us?"

"To tell you this is really happening. That you're not on some blind goose-chase across the country for nothing," Jonathan replies, frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

Alex's laughter is cold. "We already know that."

"Right. But do you know the risk you're taking? Especially _you_," Jonathan adds, looking again at Michael. "You keep going to all these places, where people like _you_ have been kept, used like lab rats in some cases, and just _held_ in others—and in other cases, I'm sure you can imagine what happened when they weren't useful anymore. And you're fine with it?" Jonathan asks, his voice rising, like it is _them_ who is in the wrong. "Traipsing around looking for, what? To _solve_ what?"

"We can't _leave_ these aliens if they're being imprisoned, or experimented on, or anything," Alex protests.

"Exactly," Jonathan replies. "In that regard, you and I share similar interests, similar goals. But you can't keep chasing this forever. You can't draw attention to yourself like this—to him," Jonathan adds, with a far more pointed look at Michael. "You think they wouldn't find it _interesting_ that there is a living, breathing alien out there who has integrated into life and society like he belongs here? You ever think what experiments they'd like to run on him for _that_?"

"They're not going _near_ him," Alex seethes, glowering at Jonathan.

"And if you mean that, then you'll stay away."

"We _can't_ stay away," Michael says. They've come so far now. Even if this _facility_ is the only one they get to where they can make a difference. Even if it's the _only_ thing they can help with.

Jonathan stares at Michael giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head before turning his gaze back to Alex. "The smart bombs your brother was working on at Caulfield. You don't think they're being created elsewhere? That there aren't all kinds of weapons that people aren't _dying_ to test out on a real-life alien that hasn't been stuck in controlled conditions for however long? Can you even imagine what they'd do to you?" Jonathan asks, snapping his gaze back to Michael. "How valuable you'd be?"

"I'm going," Michael repeats, feeling the uncertainty churning in Alex. He wants to protect him, Michael knows he does, but Alex also knows Michael's arguments without him even having to say it out loud. Jonathan stares between them as though waiting to see if Alex will raise his _argument_. When he doesn't, Jonathan nods, slowly rising to his feet.

"Fine. Then, I'll be in contact. I'll need to make arrangements for you to be there. I'll need a reason for _me_ to be there," Jonathan adds, like he doesn't have a plan for that yet, which doesn't give Michael much confidence.

"When?" Alex says, already jumping up.

"I'll let you know."

"How?"

"You want to give me your number, Alex?" Jonathan says, sounding amused. Of course Alex doesn't. Michael doesn't want him to either. "I'll come by when I know what I'm doing. Can you be ready to leave in a couple of hours whenever that is?"

Alex looks to Michael before saying a word, only answering when Michael nods at him. "We can."

"Then, good. Give me a day. Maybe two. Then we'll head out."

Jonathan doesn't say another word, only looks between the two of them as though waiting to see if _they_ have anything further to add. When they don't, Jonathan offers a small smile, then lets himself out of the Airstream, leaving Michael and Alex to their sleepless night.

* * *

"So. This is it. We're setting off in, what, an hour from now, following a guy from _Project Shepherd_ to some kind of detainment facility in Wisconsin, supposedly to help… break some aliens out? Does that sound as insane out loud as it does in my own head?" Michael says as he rereads the folded note they found shoved under their door on returning from a cafe for breakfast.

Alex sighs, taking the note from his fingers to reread himself. "It does. But yes; I think that's what we're doing."

Michael pulls Alex in by the waist so they're leaning together against a kitchen counter. "Are we sure?"

"I don't know," Alex says, curling his fingers over Michael's shoulders. "Are we?"

"This whole thing seems crazy looking back on it. It _has_ been crazy. We're—we must be out of our minds." It's not as though either of them has thought or talked about anything else ever since Jonathan's visit. The reality of what they've done, what they might be doing, has left them both wide-eyed. Any move they make now feels enormous, whatever choice they make.

"The alternative being we live pretending to be in blissful ignorance that any of this is happening, and leave people out there _detained_ who shouldn't be?"

Michael closes his eyes, smiling only for the kiss to his cheek. "Obviously not."

"I don't see how we have any choice here."

They don't. Now they've had even a glimpse into what has been happening over _decades_, Michael doesn't think he'd ever sleep again if he wasn't trying to do something to help. He justifies to himself that he has good reason not to involve Max and Isobel in all of this; they're both recovering in different ways, both have settled lives back in Roswell with more than he has to lose. Everything Michael could fear losing is right here, safe in the curve of his arms. The rest of his family are safe back in Roswell. This _wild goose chase_ of his and Alex's can bring no harm to them.

But nothing about this seems _right_. Michael knows nothing can feel right about this situation, yet for the first time since they set out for all these bases, Michael feels truly uneasy, as though he is bracing for when things go horribly wrong.

"You really don't have to come with," Alex says when Michael opens his eyes.

"Oh. And leave you to go wandering into a bonafide alien holding facility with a guy who worked with your _dad_? Yeah. That's really happening, Alex."

"But if he's right about this, and it could be dangerous for you—"

"We'll be careful," Michael says even though he has no idea how they can even prepare to be careful in a place they don't know anything about. The images flashing in his thoughts of the potential for aliens being held there, or evidence of their former _tests_ make him want to break down walls. It also makes Michael want to cower away from it all, while wanting to protect both himself and his own little world. Which brings him back to square one again, round and round in circles of arguing with himself getting no further forward at all.

"I don't want anything to happen to you. Ever," Alex tells him, soft and urgent, and with that look Michael has never been able to snatch his eyes away from. He doesn't know what to tell him or what to do for the best, so he does the only thing he is sure about; cupping Alex's face between his hands and kissing him until some of the stiffness in Alex's spine softens.

Though then an idea occurs to him, that might provide them both reassurance, yet also might make things even worse for them both if things go wrong. It's worth the risk, even if all it gives them is a few hours of peace on the drive to this facility in Wisconsin to really be together. He squeezes Alex's waist urging him to move back.

"Can I give you something?" Michael asks, when Alex raises a curious eyebrow. "Something that—I guess I had no reason to give you before, for you not knowing about me. But that… maybe it'll help? Or something?"

"What is it?"

Keeping hold of Alex's waist, Michael taps his thumbs against him as he clears his throat, thinking of what best to say. "So. It turns out, that if I put my hand on you somewhere, leave a handprint on you—like Max did with Liz—it makes this kind of… connection between us. Not a permanent one; it wears off after a few days. But while we share it, you feel all the things I feel, and everything you feel I get to feel too. I just thought. Us going into this place when we'll be worrying about each other; it might be good? It might not be, but I—"

"I want it," Alex says quickly, his eyes wide as he curls his fingers into Michael's shirt.

"You don't even know that much about it."

"I don't care. If it's a part of you, and I can share it with you, then I want it," Alex insists, some of that want creeping into his eyes as he stares back at Michael in earnest.

Michael sneaks his hand up the front of Alex's shirt to splay over his chest, tapping his thumb over Alex's heart. "Sure?"

"Very."

Michael stares back for a second longer just to be sure, then presses his fingers firmer into Alex's skin, leaning in to kiss him as he allows his power to surge. Alex sucks in a breath for it against his mouth as he curls his hands around Michael's forearms. Michael can feel him already, a deep, steady warmth beginning to wick through him that feels like love, and home. What else would he feel from Alex?

Alex's breath shudders when he pulls back, his eyes wide and bright with tears. Michael doesn't need to ask, knowing exactly what it is he feels. It's _overwhelming_ to be loved this much, to know such security. Michael knows more peace in these few seconds than he thinks he's had in a lifetime.

"You love me. So much," Alex says in awe, shaking his head and covering Michael's hand with his own against his chest when he goes to withdraw his fingers.

"I do," Michael agrees, his voice cracking with his unshed tears. "Just like you love me. I know it. I know it like I don't know anything else."

"I do," Alex whispers, his own voice thready as he looks back at him before gently bumping his forehead against Michael's then resting it there. "You're the only one who ever made sense."

It's how Jonathan finds them, letting himself in because they've left the door open a fraction, still pressed up against the kitchen counter learning the truth of one another as, with no need for words, they breathe each other in. When Alex pulls back, Michael feels a surge of protection rush through him, knowing Alex's glare for Jonathan warns him against Michael coming to any harm.

"You sure you want to do this?" Jonathan says in place of any kind of greeting.

Michael kisses Alex on the cheek without breaking eye contact with Jonathan, discreetly pulling his fingers from beneath his shirt only to tangle through Alex's by his side. "We are."

* * *

When they pull up outside the compound in Jonathan's SUV, the facility Michael finds no different to those he and Alex have been going to. Bland, nondescript buildings that are probably designed that way to attract the least attention. Michael hated leaving the truck and Airstream a little way back from the base out of sight, feeling far out of his depth for not having their familiarity with them. But since it's Jonathan's cover that's supposedly getting them in, he hadn't put up more than a token protest.

"Okay," Jonathan says without turning in his seat, "just so we're clear. You're assisting me. You don't need to speak to anyone, you don't make eye contact with anyone. Your security clearance doesn't give you the right to have a conversation with a single person in that unit. Are we clear?"

"We're clear," Alex says, not taking his eyes off the facility. Is he looking for something Michael can't see?

"Our objective today is purely scoping the place out. We need to look at cameras, doors, access panels, instruments. Anything we can. I hope you've got good memories, because we'll need to piece together whatever plan we come up with after the fact."

"You're sure this'll even work?" Michael asks, his hand firmly tucked into Alex's with no intention of letting him go before he has to.

"It's worked two of the times I've tried it so far."

"Do we want to know about the times it didn't work?"

Jonathan catches Michael's eye in the rearview giving him all the answer he needs without saying a word. Michael uses the look to fuel his determination, renew his strength when he worries about what could be waiting for them inside.

"Anything else we need to know?" Alex asks as they move to step out of the SUV, both checking the badges Jonathan handed them when they set off.

"Only this," Jonathan says, rounding on them and stopping Alex and Michael in their tracks. "I'm not jeopardizing my own safety, or work, or anything, for _you_. If you get caught, if this goes wrong, it's on you. If anyone suspects anything, it's on you. I can't do anything to help _anyone_ if they think I'm involved in any of this. Things go wrong in there? You're on your own."

Michael has more questions. Where are these aliens from? How old are they? What _use_ have they been to the humans testing on them? How long are they supposed to be held for, and what comes after for them? He doesn't get a single question out, but from the moment they step through the gates Michael can _sense_ the life inside. Alien, though not like him, trapped, though not being harmed, confusion seeming to taint the air, and also resignation. He can tell nothing else, but from the look Alex gives him he can tell he's felt it second-hand as well.

The sense of Alex's readiness for whatever's coming is a comfort to Michael. He feels safe in the knowledge that Alex knows how to get himself out of bad situations, that he's been trained to do such a thing, and has done so more than once. It's also a comfort to Michael to know that _Alex_ feels more at ease for his presence. It helps him focus, helps him shift his face into a mask, flash the badge that will give him access to the _facility_ without a second thought. That mask sits in place as they are given a tour of the facility under the guise of an inspection, hearing about the technologies the staff there are working on with the alien prisoners barely given a mention. It would be _interesting_ to Michael were the circumstances not so horrific, and realizing that only spurs him on.

There are no obvious signs of the aliens anywhere, despite Michael being aware of their presence. The staff and guards of the facility are all he really sees, and all wear a style of uniform that Michael can't place as army, navy, or air force, so blend into one. Though they are obviously military from their posture and mannerisms, and Michael finds himself trying not to hate every one of them he passes. For knowing they are involved in any way in an operation meant to imprison and test on aliens makes them targets for his loathing, especially for how passive they all appear. Like this is a regular workplace. Like there isn't alien life just feet from them as they go about their days, imprisoned so very far away from home.

It is Jonathan insisting on seeing where the aliens are being kept that finally grants them access, Michael knowing relief that they are finally about to do _something_ worthwhile. Even if all that is, is _plan_. When they are let into a hallway secured by a lock he knows he has no chance of using his powers on, confusion hits Michael for everything beyond them feeling so calm.

The aliens look, as much as Michael can tell, content. He puts them at somewhere between 40 and 60 years old suggesting to him an earlier crash like his own, or stasis pods like his people used, or any other number of possibilities. Despite the range of their skin tones, the aliens all look _pale_; Michael can't tell if that is their natural complexion or if it's because they don't get to see any sun. They are comfortably dressed, with no outward suggestion really that they are alien at all. They observe Michael with mild curiosity as he passes, with far more interest than they show Jonathan, Alex, or the guards. It's enough to make him wonder if they sense he is _different_.

The aliens each have a room, with numbers on the door taking any real identity or individuality away, but the facilities inside are like nothing at Caulfield at all. There are comfortable beds, soft furnishings, even computers and televisions in some. Two large community shower blocks with separate toilets serve what he estimates to be twenty people. They even seem free to come and go, wandering around the communal block that connects all the rooms and to the canteen beyond, helping themselves to food. He wonders how the aliens don't strike out, fight back against those imprisoning them, even if everything about this place is _homely_ in a way. Alex seems to know what he's thinking, drawing Michael's attention to the thick black bands at their wrists. Michael knows without asking that these aliens while _free_ are being watched at every moment. One false move and he is sure something in those _bands_ will stop them.

Michael does as Jonathan asked, looking for signs of exits, security they can breach, even cameras he might use his powers to shut off. He hopes he is as discreet about it as Alex is being, and if Jonathan is doing the same he's clearly perfected the look of appearing to do nothing _additional_ at all.

"We have one more part of the facility to show you, then I hope you can sign off on everything?" Michael hears one of the staff say to Jonathan, letting his gaze linger around the room a final time then hurrying to catch Jonathan and Alex up. As he does, he wants to look at the remaining aliens he can see, try to offer them reassurance without giving himself away. He knows he can't, so only keeps his eyes on the back of Alex's head as they begin to make their way out.

There is a large screen displayed beside the doorframe showing the different temperatures of everyone in the room, making Michael think of a heat sensor. Michael realizes it must be yet another security measure to make sure the aliens don't escape. Their outlines on the screen are blues and greens suggesting cooler body temperatures than the humans around them, who flare up orange and yellow. Michael's heart begins to race when he sees himself on the monitor, a violent red color in stark contrast to everyone around him. He fixes his gaze once more on the back of Alex's head, pleading with himself to just make it through and back outside.

A blow to the back of Michael's head makes him stumble forward, his knees crumpling beneath him with the force of it. His hearing becomes muted, as though he's hearing everything through thick, impenetrable glass. The pain shooting over the back of his skull is like a screaming voice, with Michael yanking at his hair as he curls up against it. The pain and noise subsides, though Michael then finds himself on his back against the floor, the cold of it leeching into his skin where his jacket and shirt have ridden up. He snaps his eyes open to find two men uniform staring down at him with both their guns trained on his chest.

"Got a lively one here," Michael makes out hearing only for watching one of the guard's mouths move, their voices sounding far too far away. Michael tries to move again, though then is calling out for a sharp sting to his thigh which takes any strength from him. His arms raise above his head without any guidance from him for the men reaching down to grab him by the wrists. As they drag him backward across the communal room and then through a sliding door at the furthest end, Michael can feel the silent observation from the aliens he's just been watching himself.

Somewhere in the building, Michael either imagines or can hear Alex screaming for him. He can feel his raging panic through the handprint, and can do nothing to reassure him for whatever he's been drugged with. He tries to call out to him anyway in his thoughts, trying to send through images of what he's seeing around him hoping it might help. Though with another sharp sting to his neck injecting him with something else, Michael knows no more.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're getting towards the end now; I estimate two or three chapters after this one depending on your votes. 
> 
> So, firstly, here is the [survey](https://forms.gle/qdw5MEaGJmoxDBKdA) related to this particular chapter. 
> 
> And secondly, here is a [survey](https://mansk.typeform.com/to/W0AVqe) _only_ for those of you who have title suggestions. If you don't have any ideas, then you'll still get to vote on the suggestions from other people for a title as well as tags for the story in a future survey.
> 
> Happy voting!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Okay first things first; mild warning for _you put Michael in an alien testing facility what did you think would happen_. Your survey choices meant nothing too awful is going to happen, but that doesn't mean Michael (and Alex) don't fear bad things!
> 
> Secondly, we have this chapter, then one more, and then the epilogue to come. The end is in sight!
> 
> Happy reading!

When Michael wakes, he winces first for the sting still at the back of his head, and then for the new one protesting to the inside of his forearm. Looking down makes him realize his jacket is gone, his shirt sleeves carefully rolled back to the elbow—by somebody other than him. Michael sits up too quickly making the room spin, pinching over his eyes before he can make himself look around.

The room is a little different from the ones he saw those other aliens in. It's more clinical for starters, which is the first thing to make his heart race. The second is finding his jacket carefully folded on a bolted-down metal table a couple of paces from him. When he stands it's to find his legs trembling, though with enough strength to allow him to cross the room.

Leaning against the table for support Michael gasps in a breath for not wanting to look but knowing that he must. He lifts his arm, careful as he prods around the _wound_; neat, clean, and sterile though it is, his heart pounds for realizing they have taken a _tissue sample_ from him. Like every other alien. Michael rolls down his sleeves and buttons the top buttons of his shirt, shivering for belatedly noticing he is cold. He tells himself it's the room instead of his fear; perhaps seeing him appear to be burning on that heat sensor out there made his captors think he needed to keep cool.

His phone is in his jacket pocket along with his wallet, though its battery is completely drained. Michael's stomach clenches in confusion for finding them there since both were in his jean pockets before he'd been knocked out. He attempts to distract himself from that unsettled feeling by continuing to explore his space. The bed he's been laid on, while narrow, is comfortable enough when he slumps back on the end of it before quickly standing again. The window has pitted glass, so he can't see what's outside, but at least it's letting light in.

The room has no other furniture. No furnishings to make it homely, and nothing but smooth edges along the windows and door. There is no easy way out of here, and though his senses are dulled a little Michael reaches out anyway to see if he can manipulate the lock. Which he can't.

Slumping back to the bed, Michael huddles into his jacket for warmth, wondering where the cool air is seeping in from. He almost jumps again for the _feel_ of Alex, remembering the handprint they share.

_Alex_? he thinks, wondering if whatever drugged him earlier has subsided enough for them to be able to communicate. Not that he's sure how much _communication_ they can share. Relief floods through him, Michael sagging for knowing it is what Alex feels. He experiments with sending his feelings through to Alex in the form of a question to check how _he_ is doing, feeling a mix of emotions coming back.

_Focus_. If this connection with Alex is the only thing to help him out of here Michael knows he has to control his thoughts. He can't send detailed instructions to him nor plot out coordinates so Alex knows where he might be. For all he knows, Alex is being held somewhere in this facility himself, double-crossed by _Jonathan_ and both of them lured here. Michael forms his thoughts to ask that question, knowing through Alex's response that he is free and somewhere outside the facility, and for that, he is thankful.

So how does he get out of here? Once again Michael inspects his _cell_ sending his thoughts through to Alex as best as he can. He runs his hands over the windows and door once more looking for anything that might give him something to latch on to. The room is as sterile as it was for his last look, its surfaces still smooth, with nothing to rive from its fittings or corners to snag his way free with.

Alex sends love, and promise, and an appeal Michael thinks is for him to calm. How he knows without being able to hear his words Michael isn't sure, promising himself they'll investigate this _handprint_ further if he ever gets out of here. _When_ he does. Michael patrols the room for a final time before slumping to the bed in defeat for a headache beginning to press against his temples.

_Coming_.

Michael jumps off the bed for the _thought_ in his head, knowing it isn't Alex's voice at all. He is across the room in seconds, in the corner furthest from the door, sure he can hear approaching footsteps. The door swings open, and Michael tries to prepare himself as best he can.

A guard from earlier walks in with a small, friendly smile for him. Michael sizes him up, tries to gauge his chances in a fight. The man is blond-haired, taller than him, and broader, though Michael notices a slight stiffness to his right side as he comes to a stop. They stare at each other from a distance, the clipboard in the man's hands resting easily against his chest.

Michael doesn't know what he's waiting for. He balls his hands up in fists and tilts his chin in defiance, even taking a step closer to him. The guard smiles for it, raising his clipboard and checking something off.

"Well. No telepathy then. I'm Brian."

_Brian_ is far too calm, _jovial_ almost, considering they're holding him hostage. Michael glares, since right now there is little else he can do. The door is open but Michael can see the shadow of another guard stationed there just waiting for him to try to escape.

"And you, judging from what your _friend_ was screaming at you earlier, must be _Michael_."

"Why would you think I was telepathic?" Michael says trying _not_ to think about Alex, trying also not to think about his wallet which could tell _Brian_ everything there is to know about his identity. Why haven't they looked? Brian raises his eyebrows for Michael's question and quickly scribbles something else down.

"Forgive me. Everyone else here, the species, they are all telepathic. We don't talk to them out loud at all unless they show a preference for it."

Michael takes objection to the word _species_, but doesn't say as much. In fact, he thinks it might be better not to say anything.

"So you must be from somewhere quite different," Brian adds in a conversational tone Michael thinks is supposed to put him at ease. "Given your temperature difference, for one. Unless you have a fever?"

"No fever."

"Interesting."

"What's _interesting_, is that you _trapped_ me here," Michael says, seeing the shadow of the guard in the doorway shift.

"I think it's far more interesting that you found us. That you tricked your way in. What were you hoping to achieve?" Brian asks, pen poised over his clipboard.

Michael wants to be glib, to use his usual sarcasm to talk his way out of this situation. One quick glance around the room to remind himself tells Michael no such thing will work. "I wanted to see what was happening here."

"Well. You clearly haven't been in the system. Your results came back with _nothing_. Were you kept somewhere else?"

"Kept?" Michael repeats, while thinking _system_? He pictures all those filing cabinets with all those files, wondering where else in the world aliens are being _kept_ against their will. What the _system_ would show them if Alex found a way to hack into it.

"Yes."

"No. I—I crashed."

Brian looks even more interested. "In a vessel?"

Michael shakes his head, then shrugs his shoulders, attempting to appear at ease. "Honestly? I have no idea. I just woke up here. I don't remember the crash, or anything before it."

"So you were in a pod," Brian says, once again writing. "Several of the species that have arrived have done so in different kinds of pod devices that we assume must be some sort of life stasis technology. We're hoping to one day crack that technology to produce something suitable for our own space exploration."

At least they can't pinpoint him being from the Roswell crash, Michael thinks, fearing for Isobel, and Max, and any ties that might link him to his mother and the rest of the aliens killed in Caulfield. "If you say so," Michael says.

"Alone?"

"I told you. I don't remember."

Brian nods. "Well. That narrows our possibilities of which crash you originated from to three potential locations. Each of these _pods_ seems to function slightly differently depending on where they're from. Only three we know of placed subjects in the pods that, either deliberately or through some kind of malfunction, altered or even wiped their memories."

Michael keeps his expression neutral, not wanting to reveal a thing. "Why are you telling me any of this?"

"You don't find it interesting?"

"Only thing I find interesting is getting _out_ of here."

Brian purses his lips into something probably supposed to be a sympathetic smile. Michael thinks he's telling him that he _won't_ be getting out. Brian makes some kind of signal to the guard at the door who comes in carrying a tray with a deep plastic cover over it, on which is resting what Michael thinks must be clothes. When he inspects the pile his heart thuds again in protest for the thought of being forced into what he now realizes is some kind of hospital gown, putting thoughts in his head of something _medical_ about to happen to him.

"You must be hungry, hmm? The sedative usually takes at least an hour to wear off; everyone else wakes up hungry."

An hour. He's been here an _hour_? What about the time that passed before that when he was free to explore the facility with a false badge provided by Jonathan? Michael wants to ask about _his_ involvement more, convinced that Jonathan is _why_ he is here.

"I'm fine."

"Well. It'll be about half an hour until we come back with more questions. For one, how you came to be in possession of a badge for a member of staff who's been _absent_ for about a month now," Brian says, gesturing for the guard to put the tray on the table. "You might as well eat. Drink something. We'll possibly move you to somewhere with bathroom facilities after our next talk."

Brian and the other guard leave Michael without another word. He pushes the gown from the tray letting them fall to the floor, adamant he will _not_ be putting them on. The food is warm, some kind of pasta dish; should he be suspicious that it also looks good? And how can he possibly refuse coffee? Michael sniffs it making sure the only thing he can smell _is_ coffee, before taking a cautious sip.

_The food and drink are safe_.

Michael jolts again for the voice in his head, sure now it is coming from an _alien_ in a neighboring cell. _Hello? _he thinks back, testing and trying to stretch his senses.

_You are the new one._

_Yes. I guess I am._

_Would it be easier to know what is coming for you? Or would you prefer to find out for yourself?_

Michael feels sick for the ideas he's putting in his own head, never mind what someone else might have to tell him. He tries the pasta and finds it good, taking the bowl over to the bed where he sits and eats his fill. _How about you tell me about you instead, huh?_

_Oh. That is quite the story…_

* * *

Michael learns his new _friends_ were here on a research trip hoping to find minerals on Earth they could trade with those from their own planet. _Peaceful_, just as Michael hopes most of these aliens who have crash-landed here would be. Not that it helps any of them. Perhaps if it had been a warrior race landing, these _humans_ would not have stood a chance at _testing_ on them.

All Michael can think about is those _tests_. Over a meal he's deciding was a lunch, he got to know the alien in the cell next to his own. They wouldn't give their name, only revealing that they had been _sectioned_ from the others; from the sound of things, because of a common cold. Michael guesses that in close proximity and the closed quarters of this facility, a cold would rapidly spread between the aliens. It sounds as though it's for everyone's _good_, though what good is all the care in the world if they aren't free to leave?

Michael has no time for his thoughts to wander further, for the sound of his room door being opened and Brian smiling as he once again steps inside. He positions a fold-up chair near the end of the bed gesturing for Michael to sit, which he does even though reluctant to.

For almost two hours, Michael is _interrogated_. Not through torture, or any other devious means, just question after question that leaves Michael feeling like his head is spinning. They have even provided him with endless drinks and more food throughout, allowing him out only to use a bathroom then shutting him back into this room he's already sick of the sight of. How can his _neighbor_ sound so calm, so resigned to it all? Michael is ready to break the walls with his bare hands already; if he can only find something to latch on to.

Michael has revealed _nothing_. He has made up a life for himself in a nondescript part of Montana, recalling streets and cafes from their brief stop there and even giving himself a false name. They will not get a truthful thing out of him. _No one_ is going to suffer because of him, Michael is adamant.

Those _tests_ though. Michael feels sick just thinking about what else they might have in store for him. Despite his _neighbor_ giving him all the reassurances that the whole procedure will be painless, that he'll be pinned down without his consent and be _studied_ is a nightmare Michael has lived with for most of his life. Every horror he has imagined over the years could be about to happen to him, if Michael doesn't find a way out soon. Though how can he? He is sealed in here, can only share with Alex the briefest of details, leaving Alex to coordinate his _rescue_ from beyond the facility.

Michael knows he is coming for him. There is stubborn determination seeping through that handprint more than any other feeling, raging fury that Michael has been taken prominent in his feelings as well. Michael thinks for once in his life he won't mind seeing _soldier Alex_, and that even if he did object he would be relieved to see it anyway. His only hope is that Alex does whatever he's going to do soon.

_Lover?_

Michael tenses for the question, going back to pacing the room for something to do. His thoughts of Alex he will _not_ share with another person like this. He is furious that he let even the impression of him through.

_Yeah. But that's off limits_, he thinks back, not wanting to be rude. For all he knows, he is the first contact any of these aliens have had with the outside world since they arrived on earth. He feels back what he thinks must be a shrug, relaxing for a drift of the conversation to other subjects. This alien is fascinated by food more than anything, has even had the opportunity to _cook_ a few times. They are well-fed here in this facility, given cuisines from around the world to sample, and even feasts when there are holidays to celebrate. His neighbor even sounds excited in his head when describing when one of the guards brought in homemade _cupcakes_ for an occasion. Michael tries to imagine what an alien birthday party might look like in this facility, disturbed more than anything by how _okay_ this alien seems to be with their incarceration.

_Coming_, Michael hears again putting his heart in his throat. This is his neighbor's way of forewarning him of a guard approaching. He keeps to the back of the room again as far from the door as it's possible to get.

They're coming for him anyway. Two guards flank _Brian_ as he approaches with that open friendly smile telling Michael not to worry. His arms are held firm but gently by his side as something is injected into his upper arm, leaving Michael feeling weightless before he passes out.

* * *

"_Get dressed_."

Michael jolts awake for the voice hissing in his ear, his eyes taking far too long to focus on the ceiling above him. _Ceiling_? Michael's heart tries to protest for what can only be some kind of operating machinery towering over him. He tries and fails to sit in his attempt to escape it, but his limbs won't cooperate, feeling like his arm muscles might have been replaced by spaghetti. And _excuse me_, Michael thinks, when did I get _undressed_?

"_Quickly_."

Michael snaps his eyes open again not realizing he'd closed them, getting his head up far enough to see someone has put him in that _hospital_ _gown_ the guards laid out for him earlier. _Dammit_. What else has he been asleep for?

"Michael, so help me. My brother is out there single-handedly trying to knock out every damn person in this place who's kept you here. In between that, we're trying free every alien, even if they haven't got a clue what's going on, all while destroying all the records of everyone ever held here. Including _you_. So can you do _something_ for me, at least, and just at least sit the hell _up_?"

_Flint_? Michael finally ties the voice to a face, fighting to make his eyes focus. _What are you doing here?_ he wants to ask, but can't make his tongue cooperate. They've _drugged_ him, again, and Michael is stupid for it. Though he hopes this means that Flint got to him before those experiments, and not after.

"Michael. We have to _go_," Flint insists, and okay, on his list of strange things to experience today, Michael was _not_ expecting to be helped dress by Alex's brother. He tries to be as helpful as he can be for not being able to speak or move, and it's clear Flint's experience of dressing another person is… limited. Michael closes his eyes because it's far less hilarious that way. Michael fears these _drugs_ have made him a little hysterical. Though his thoughts are fairly sharp at least; as Flint helps manipulate his limbs back into his shirt and jeans, Michael mentally checks himself over. He is relieved to the point of almost passing out for realizing he has _not_ yet been tested on.

Alex storms through the door the moment Flint hauls Michael to his feet, catching him as Michael tumbles for Flint not getting his arm around his shoulder quick enough. It's _soldier Alex_ who is staring back at him, fierce-looking and battle-ready; not that Michael is all that sure what battle he is ready for, obviously. That soldier mask drops in the seconds Alex's face morphs in relief, and the additional second he takes to kiss him—even though Michael is in no position to kiss him back. Though that mask slips back into place as Alex takes Michael's arm to sling around his own shoulders, and between him and Flint they drag Michael from the room.

The scene is _chaos_. The doors to all the rooms are wide open, furniture scattered in every direction. What Michael presumes are the facility's records are piled on a table with computers that have been pulled apart. A box of parts that Michael doesn't know the name of Alex swipes in passing, leaving him to think they must be memory components, or hard drives, or something.

"We need to get him out. _Now_," Alex says as the three of them get through that door that had trapped Michael earlier, dragging him towards the exit. Michael fights to lift his head to feel the sun on his face when they pass through the exterior doors.

Michael is aware of a fire to his side, bracing harder against Flint when Alex urges him to. He watches him pull a file from the box he's been carrying. It is only a thin thing; Michael knows without asking that it is _his_ file. Alex plucks a small rectangular container from its pages with disgust and tosses it on the fire, before roughly tearing the paperwork and adding that as well.

"Get him to the truck."

Michael can't say anything. He watches the focus in Alex's eyes as he talks to Flint, tries to smile when Alex looks at _him_.

"I'll see you soon," Alex tells him, his voice softer, a brief rest of his hand against Michael's chest.

Flint sighs when Alex is out of earshot. "I get the feeling you're going to kill me for this later."

Kill him? Kill him for _what_?

Michael finds out the next second. Being hoisted over the shoulder of a guy he barely knows and being _carried_, the ground beneath them blurring and jolting as he watches it pass, is Michael's least favorite thing to have happen to him in the past ten minutes. He would be sick if his body would cooperate, Michael is sure. Though that headache from earlier is back again, trying to force Michael to close his eyes. The last thing he sees as Flint tries to pour him into the back of what looks like an army-issued truck is the _facility_ going up in fire and smoke, accompanied by a bone-grinding churning noise rumbling beneath their feet.

* * *

Is he on a boat?

The churning sensation beneath him makes Michael think of the sea, yet as he cracks his eyes open expecting sunlight overhead, the familiar ceiling of the Airstream comes into focus instead. Michael recoils from it for not liking the way the Airstream feels on the road, clasping his fingers in their comforter as he gets used to the movement. When he can, he hauls himself up only to slump back against the back of the couch, still feeling the need to get his bearings despite knowing his current location.

Michael's first thought is that he needs to find _Alex_. He can only hope that it is him or even Flint who is currently towing the Airstream. Hopefully with his own truck. He doesn't feel particularly balanced; Michael's limbs are still weak, and any effort he makes exhausting at every turn, so he won't be getting up to investigate his driver any time soon. So Michael instead rolls over pitifully slow, finding the cable for his phone so he can at least put it on charge.

He sneaks a look out of the window, not able to place where he is from the look of the road. Though even trying that is too much effort. Michael falls back against the bed far too tired to even think. Idly, he probes at Alex through the handprint, not even convinced he'll be able to for still feeling so drugged.

Relief floods back to him along with love, and something Michael thinks to be caution as well. The Airstream doesn't slow so he guesses they won't be stopping any time soon. Michael is thankful at least that he is with Alex, and is no longer trapped. Though that reminder only makes Michael's heart race for thinking of what almost happened to him. He has so many questions, and Michael realizes then that he knows nothing of the aliens he and Alex had hoped to save. He falls back into a restless sleep, tossing and turning as his memories mingle with his fears, conjuring a nightmare he feels like he might never wake from.

* * *

The Airstream door opening wakes Michael again. This time he has a little more strength in him, able to sit up faster even if everything spins. He feels the bed dip beside him, clutching on to the extended hand before he can open his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Alex asks softly, keeping hold of Michael's hand but resting his other against his cheek.

The realization of all that has happened—or almost happened—hits Michael again then with the softness of Alex's touch. A sob erupts its way out of his throat unchecked, and the next thing Michael knows is being rocked in Alex's arms. He clings on tight, shaking, wanting to feel stupid for letting his anguish out, for feeling so _weak_. Though in Alex's grip he feels nothing but loved, and safe.

"Did they hurt you?" Alex asks, cradling the back of Michael's head as he holds him. "Did they do anything to you? Michael, what happened to you in there?"

"Nothing," Michael says shaking his head against Alex's shoulder. "Nothing much, anyway." Through still choked tears Michael tells him of the room, his neighbor, his horror of waking up in a room where he assumes _tests_ would have been done on him at any minute. He pushes up his sleeve to show him where the tissue sample was taken from his arm, Alex cradling it as though his arm might break. Alex raises his arm to better inspect it, pressing a kiss to Michael's cheek before he gets up. Michael watches him retrieve their first aid kit, feeling his panic seeping away from him as Alex carefully cleans the already-clean wound and covers it with a band-aid. When Alex kisses over it, the gentleness of the gesture forces fresh tears in Michael's eyes, making him grab Alex to him again.

When his tears have subsided Michael sits back, still clutching on to Alex's forearms. He clears his throat for the dryness there, getting a kiss to his temple for it as Alex slips from the bed.

"What happened back there?" Michael croaks out as he watches Alex take a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Do you want the quick answer, or the long answer?" Alex replies, uncapping the bottle before crawling back to sit beside him. He passes the bottle watching Michael greedily drink trying to quench his thirst before taking a sip for himself.

"Right now, I'll take any answer." Now it's Michael's turn to watch as Alex thinks of what to say.

"They _took _you," Alex seethes, his eyes steely as he glares. "They took you, and I couldn't—I had to get you out." Michael nods in encouragement, reaching out to take Alex's hand. "I don't even know how they knew."

"There was a heat sensor. Right beside the door."

Alex's expression shifts in understanding. "Jonathan thought the facility had been compromised or something. We couldn't understand how they'd singled you out. He thought they had been alerted to the fact that you weren't the person on the badge you were wearing."

"Some guard that went missing a month ago?"

"How did you know that?" Alex asks, wide-eyed.

"Guard told me. _Brian_."

"Brian was the one to interrogate you?" Alex asks, his words becoming clipped and focussed.

"Yeah."

"Nobody else?"

"Well. There were other guards around. Other people who brought me food, dragged me off, injected me with whatever. But Brian was the only one who introduced himself, who talked to me."

Without taking his eyes off Michael, Alex retrieves a phone from his pocket; an old-fashioned looking thing that Michael knows immediately is a burner. He presses one button on its pad before holding it to his ear, still looking right at him. Michael hears the call connect, thinks he hears a greeting on the other end. "Brian," Alex says before ending the call, the coldness of his tone putting the hair on the back of Michael's neck on end.

"What was that?"

"Nothing for you to worry about," Alex replies, running his thumb over the back of Michael's.

"Well. Maybe I am worried," Michael replies, though not too much about whatever fate might now befall _Brian_. It's the look in Alex's eyes that fills him with dread, knowing that Alex would go to any measures necessary to keep him safe—and possibly in this situation to get revenge. But at what cost to _himself_? Michael doesn't want to ask, not now, not when he can still see that _room_ he'd started to fear he'd be trapped in forever. Even if a glimpse at the time on his phone when he turns it on tells him it is only a day since they went to that damned facility. "So. Tell me what happened? Outside, I mean. With _you_."

"Jonathan signed some paperwork for the facility, letting them think you were on your own in this," Alex says, and clearly hates. Michael gets it; how else would have _Alex_ got out. "Then, we left. Jonathan called Flint; apparently he'd asked him to stick around. Follow us to the facility."

"For what?"

"To help. Help get you out, and the aliens. It's his bomb that blew the facility up after we got everyone out."

This is too much to take in all at once for the wave of exhaustion that hits Michael then. Or maybe this is just his way of blocking everything out. Michael lets his head fall back sure that sleep is coming to claim him, but tries to shake it off; at least for a little longer. "It can't be as simple as that. After everything, we can't have just—it can't be that easy."

Alex gives him a flicker of a smile that tells Michael none of this has been _easy_ at all. "We aren't finished yet."

"Meaning, what?"

Alex licks his lips, giving Michael the impression he isn't going to enjoy what he has to tell him much. "We got everyone out. But some of them didn't seem all that pleased to leave. They _liked_ it there, Michael."

"Only because they've not known any other life here, Alex." Though Michael can't help think of his cell neighbor. Didn't they seem far more peaceful about their imprisonment than they should?

"It's going to take a lot of adjustment for them if it's all they've ever known. Here, at least. They'll need new identities, and money. Resources. Jonathan is working on it, but it's… it's going to be a lot of work—for them, more than anything."

"Is that what's happening now? Work? For them?"

Alex nods, adjusting his grip on Michael's hand. "Flint and Jonathan are driving them all down here—"

"Where's _here_?"

"Evanston. Illinois. About three hours from where we just were. We're going to take a few days to get them ID. Try to figure some things out."

"Why here?"

"Jonathan has a place here. Or access to a place, at least."

"And you trust him?" Michael asks, monitoring the look in his eyes.

"Only as much as I need to." Alex clears his throat then, once again cupping Michael's face. "How are you feeling now?"

"Tired still. My head hurts."

"From where they hit you?" Alex asks, gesturing for Michael to tilt his head forward. Michael does as asked, closing his eyes to the gentle fingertips exploring his scalp, shaking his head after hissing when Alex finds a tender spot there.

"I think that, and whatever they used to sedate me, and then having a voice in my head," Michael adds, before explaining to Alex about the _telepathy_ of the aliens.

Alex nods in thought. "Jonathan warned me about that too. Said these next couple of days I might need to stock up on Advil. Some side effects until you get used to it, apparently."

"Couple of days?" Michael repeats, only for Alex to shake his head and urge Michael to lie down.

"Rest a little. I think they'll all be here by six, seven. We're going to be _busy_."

"Will you sleep too?" Michael asks, because despite the determination in Alex's expression he can't hide the bags beneath his eyes. Has he slept at all since the facility? Michael doubts it.

"Tonight," Alex agrees, arranging the comforter around him, "when we've started what we need to do."

"Which is what?"

"Sleep," Alex insists in a soft whisper, bending over Michael to claim a quick kiss. Michael wants to argue, but tiredness pulls him under before he can get another word out.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Nothing _that_ bad! 
> 
> Okay, survey time.
> 
> Here is the [survey](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfaJedtjGX7hmebIGou4OnH7iPdRHSDXJESIdEbJrfintySoQ/viewform) to help shape the next chapter.
> 
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	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So of course the final chapter got very long and ended up being split into two... here is the first half. The second half will be posted in a few days along with a survey to help shape the (also probably long) epilogue. Happy reading!

When Michael wakes next it is to the warmth of Alex pressed behind him, his hand gently squeezing his hip. He keeps his eyes closed focusing on the feel of Alex with him, before covering Alex's hand with his own.

"I'm awake," he says, his voice hoarse again. Alex presses a long kiss to the side of his throat in apology for making them move.

"Are you awake enough to get up yet? I promise coffee and whatever you feel like eating."

Michael flips over quickly, both to test how much movement he now has, and for the excuse to get a quick cuddle for being sure the tone in Alex's voice means it's going to be a long night. "Anything?" he mumbles into Alex's neck, smiling for his soft huff of laughter and how Alex strokes his hand down his arm.

"Yes. Anything."

"I need the biggest, dirtiest burger we can find. With everything."

More laughter is pressed into Michael's hair, and is followed by a kiss to his temple. "I'll do you a deal. You get up, take a shower, get changed. I'll get something ordered, and I'll have coffee waiting for you when you're done."

"Don't wanna take a shower with me, Alex?" Michael teases, moving just enough so he can get a kiss to Alex's skin where his top shirt button is open.

"I thought we established just how little room we have in there for that."

"But you could _talk_ to me," Michael points out, which is how Alex updates him on the rest of what has happened. As he showers, Michael hears about Alex's surprise for Flint's arrival, how they'd coaxed the aliens out of the facility on to a bus, and how all the guards were knocked out—mostly from the sounds of things by Alex, reminding Michael of Flint's words in his _cell_. Alex tells him how it was the connection through their handprint that had helped guide them to finding him. Also, in ways Michael doesn't understand, the handprint helped Alex identify the _security measures_ in the building Jonathan had told them to look out for and Michael had seen for himself.

"It was more an impression than a floorplan," Alex tries to explain when Michael questions him on it, gesturing for Michael to drop his head when he steps out of the shower.

Michael does as asked, huffing in surprise as Alex dries his hair for him, stealing kisses in between drying off. They have caught each other up with their news by the time Michael is dressed, with Alex handing him his promised coffee. Though Michael doesn't get to drink it for Alex suddenly throwing his arms around his middle, tucking in close and holding on tight.

Michael pushes back because he's in danger of stumbling for the force of Alex's hug, lowering the mug to the kitchen counter before hugging him back. "You okay?"

"I thought I might _lose_ you," Alex groans into his neck, his fingers gripping into Michael's shirt. "I couldn't—I couldn't think of _anything_ but getting to you. And if we didn't have this handprint," Alex adds suddenly pulling from Michael's grasp, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and pressing Michael's hand over it again. Alex looks down at Michael's fingers sitting perfectly within its shape before raising his hand to cover Michael's with his own. "I don't know what I would have done, if I couldn't at least know you were—that you were still... _there_."

Michael sighs for the fresh waves of relief that pulse through him from Alex, steadying himself with his other hand on Alex's waist. "I think being able to feel you kept me from freaking out. I was _scared_, but I could _feel_ you were coming for me. I knew it anyway, but I could—I could feel it."

"Then. Maybe we need this on me all the time. Or at least more often?"

Michael presses his fingers firmer against Alex's skin, shaking his head and cupping Alex's face when he looks. "Well, we can; any time you want. But we don't need it. I feel you anyway, with or without it. And besides; I'm not going anywhere again. Not without you."

Alex's smile is filled with more of that relief before he huffs out a sigh and drops their foreheads together. Michael still doesn't drop his grip on him until he feels Alex properly relax. "Rest," Alex insists then as he kisses him on the cheek and hands him his coffee again. "I'm picking up food."

"You ordered already?" Michael asks, snagging an arm around Alex's waist so he can't get too far. And so he won't rebutton his shirt just yet.

"Multitasking."

"I could come with?"

Alex stops pretending to squirm away, fixing Michael with a look that tells him he is worrying. "Do you not want to be alone right now?"

Michael doesn't hesitate, drawing Alex even closer. "Honestly? Not really."

"Then we'll go together," Alex replies, leaning against him so Michael's back is to the kitchen counter. "We can eat on the way to this place Jonathan has."

"You know anything about it?"

"Only directions."

"And these aliens. You think they'll be safe now? Away from all of this?"

Alex sighs, bumping his forehead against Michael's shoulder before stepping back. Michael stops him from rebuttoning his shirt by doing it for him, with a wink of promise for later that makes Alex smile. "I can _hope_ they will be."

"Well. Let's go eat, then see what we can do to help."

Alex nods, claiming another quick kiss then leaving Michael to finish his coffee as he sits on the end of the couch to lace his boots.

* * *

Full to the point of sleepiness on burgers, Michael looks over the building Alex's GPS has led them to, exchanging glances with Alex before they turn back to look over it in surprise. Jonathan's _place_ turns out to be a motel that, by means Michael and Alex aren't privy to, he's booked out in entirety for the night. Several nights, in fact, when Michael checks the reservation slip Alex shoves into his hand, that _Flint_ hands to him in passing. Though Michael is already far too distracted to think on it too much, for two reasons really. The _aliens_ they've rescued milling around the motel's lobby both curious and carefree, and the swollen, bruised mess that is Jonathan's eye.

Alex barely raises his eyebrows when Michael turns to ask. Alex's knuckles aren't scuffed, but Jonathan's face, and the slightly pained way he holds himself, along with the looks of reproach he keeps sending Alex's way, tells Michael everything. Was there anyone today Alex _didn't_ punch? The clatter of the receptionist beginning to drop keys on the reception counter tells Michael to save his questions for later.

The aliens, who Michael already wishes had names, appear fascinated by the motel. It's nothing special, just a roadside two-floor building with adequate rooms and suites for all of them, but it's still more than they've ever known here on Earth. So if they're excited by their rooms, and Michael, Alex, Flint, and Jonathan have to adjust to having their voices in their heads as they _chatter_ about their new surroundings, well then it's worth it. For the delight on their faces, and how quickly they are adapting after such upheaval, Michael has to believe they will all be just fine.

_You are here_.

Michael startles for the familiar voice in his head, turning to meet his earlier neighbor from the facility face to face. They are short with thick, dark hair and quizzically raised eyebrows, soft around the middle though with broad shoulders. Michael smiles in relief for knowing they too were rescued, belatedly worrying about them being left behind.

"Yeah. I am," Michael says out loud, and then stumbling to clasp their hand. "It's good to see you."

"As it is you."

"I don't even know your name."

"I chose a human name while we were traveling. Like you have. My name is _Soren_. Though I do not have a last name yet."

"Well, we can help you with that," Alex says as he joins them. Soren looks him up and down, their face splitting into a smile of recognition.

"Your lover. _Alex_," Soren says, Alex taking their extended hand to shake. Alex looks to Michael in surprise. Though then his face morphs in understanding; Michael assumes Soren must be speaking to Alex in his head.

"Thank you. Really," Alex says then, clasping on to Soren's hands, before he turns and rests his hand on Michael's lower back, leading him away.

"What was that about?" Michael asks with a quick glance back.

"I don't know if it helped, but they said they were looking out for you in there. Or at least, trying to help you calm. I appreciate that."

Michael is surprised by the quick kiss he receives, for Alex being so unfazed that other people are around when he does it. Though why should he be surprised? This is who, and what they are now.

Once each of the aliens has had the chance to get used to their rooms, Jonathan calls for everyone to meet. There is an air of excitement as well as anticipation as they all gather together in one of the larger suites, wedging in to sit on the beds, couch, and desk already in the room, along with chairs brought in from elsewhere. Michael worries that the receptionist might think their antics strange, though then glances out the window to see her in the parking lot climbing into a car before driving away.

"Jonathan spoke to her," Alex says when he catches Michael looking. "I didn't ask more."

"I guess it's for the best?"

"It is. We have a lot to do, to get things started."

They have their work cut out for them. How are they supposed to build lives for all these aliens in just two days? Between Alex's coding and hacking experience, and Jonathan's _resources_—and apparently Flint's ability to steal the necessary equipment to print identification and other documents—Michael is on tenterhooks for fearing would-be guests showing up at the motel, catching them in the middle of all this illegal activity. He voices his fears to Alex as Jonathan continues to lay out his plans for the next few hours. Alex opens his laptop and starts typing, already into the motel's system in seconds.

"Please tell me it is not that easy," Michael mumbles as he leans against his shoulder.

"Well. Not for everyone. For me, it is." Alex nudges against him again as he turns the screen towards him. The sign for the motel now reads that it is closed for renovation; Michael sees it first on the motel's _systems_, and next in the parking lot as Alex turns the security camera towards it. "I've deactivated all the cameras but this one."

"You taking my job, Alex?" Michael teases, even though he doesn't think he has the strength yet to do anything with his powers.

"You're _resting_," Alex insists with a pointed look, closing the laptop lid and throwing his arm around Michael to keep him close.

When the meeting is over, all the aliens file out of the suite room returning to their own, mumbling and muttering to one another both in their heads and out loud, surprisingly unfazed by what is happening. It strikes Michael that they are speaking mostly out loud, when _Brian_ had mentioned they only used telepathy. He thinks to ask, but then Jonathan is stiffly walking across the room to close the door behind the last alien to leave, sagging into a chair by the desk in relief.

Flint is by his side immediately, arranging chairs for Michael and Alex to sit and then looking at Jonathan like he's awaiting instructions. Does he need the structure of having a commanding officer around to feel at home?

"By the end of the night, I want them all to have chosen names for themselves. Maybe, I want some of them to have at least thought about what they can do. Careerwise, or whatever they think they want to contribute to the world. We need to get all their identification fixed tomorrow, to get things started."

"We can't expect them all to start _jobs_ right this second," Michael protests when Jonathan has finished speaking.

"Of course not," Jonathan replies, as he presses his thumb and finger either side of his jaw and checks how it moves. When Michael looks he can see the beginnings of a bruise to the right side of his face. Just exactly what did he say or do, to make Alex do any of that to him? "Judith will be back in the morning," Jonathan adds, grimacing. "We'll talk to her about those who might need to stay here longer-term."

"Judith?"

"Motel reception. Former detainee."

Alex's eyes get really wide, though Michael doesn't feel much surprise. "The receptionist is an alien?"

"As is everyone who works in this motel," Jonathan tells them, still toying with his jaw. "This place was a run down mess when I found it a few years back. We renovated it over the years. It's perfect for all this. They get work, we get someplace to help others start over. This event is just a little more ambitious than my previous efforts."

It is more than Michael could ask for. He's not really sure what he'd expected for the _rescue_, but Jonathan's news, and everything he can see them planning gives him hope.

"Soren said they were here to research. Maybe they can find work or whatever in their fields of… whatever they specialized in?"

"Some will," Jonathan agrees. "Though they will also surprise you."

"What do you mean?"

Jonathan prods some more at his jaw, sighing as he bends for a backpack beneath the desk and pulls a pack of Advil from a pocket. He throws two into his mouth, washes them down with water, then offers the box around. Both Flint and Alex take some as well, Michael's own head not particularly painful. He's come to think of the _voices_ of the aliens as background noise. It's only now he's thinking about it that he can pick individual voices out.

"Well," Jonathan says, "so far, I know of aliens integrating into various science disciplines, a lot who just wanted some land to live and grow things on. We have some in the hotel industry, like Judith, some writers. Even a Youtuber," he adds, with the way he pronounces the word making Michael think it is the profession he can least get his head around. "Some take off and travel. A few have gone straight into care when they've been elderly, or sick. These guys all seem pretty healthy, which is good. More challenging to find them all something to do, but, we'll do it."

"They'll need clothes. Food for tonight," Michael says, trying to cover all bases. "Maybe I can take Soren, get some food at least for tonight, and breakfast. Maybe some basic clothing for now."

Jonathan nods, leaning delicately to the side putting in Michael's mind thoughts of cracked ribs, and pulling a wallet from his back pocket. He slides out a credit card, then another one with card details on, passing both to Michael. "If you're up to it. That'd be great. Though don't worry too much about clothes. We'll take them out over the next few days. And we have some clothes here from previous guests. We'll make do for now."

"Are you sure?" Alex asks, with his hand resting on Michael's back. Michael nods back, trying to let him know not to worry. He ducks his head and smiles for the frustration he feels back through the handprint.

Soren and two others, who have already picked the names Flynn and Georgie by the time they leave, accompany Michael to a Target a few miles from the motel. They are all fascinated, giving Michael a headache for _thinking_ about similar places they've seen on TV, and how different it all is to when they needed food and other products on their home planet.

By the time the aliens have eaten a meal—spaghetti and meatballs cooked on mass by Michael and Soren, who is thrilled through every second of the process—each has chosen names for themselves and started to think about work. Martine, Milly, and Joe, the first three to have their identification made for them, are the center of attention as the others clamor round to inspect it. Alex looks pleased and tired for a job well done, and Jonathan already looks half-asleep. Only Flint seems prepared to keep working all night long if he has to, finally settling for watching TV with a few of the aliens who have decided to follow him everywhere. Michael catches him looking at Alex with a secret smile that he thinks is amusement for the way Alex laughs to himself for it.

Michael is _exhausted_. Whether there are still drugs in his system or it's the aftermath of a tense few days, he doesn't know. He finds himself yawning repeatedly, sitting ever closer to Alex sure he could sleep on him then and there. Alex keeps his arm around him whenever he's not at his laptop, constantly checking where he is in the room if he has to move. Though it's Jonathan who approaches Michael when he's mid-yawn, the bruises on his face looking starker than ever, dropping a room key into his hand.

"Sleep. We have more than enough spare rooms for us all. And it means we can crack on with all of this earlier if we're all already here."

Michael runs his thumb over the number on the fob knowing it is for one of the bigger rooms upstairs. Alex is across the room holding his hand out to help Michael stand before he even looks up.

"I'll come up with you for the key, but I want to spend at least another hour on all this," Alex says as he slots his hand through Michael's.

"Michael."

Jonathan's voice stops them from leaving, Alex tensing by Michael's side as though he knows what to expect. Michael keeps his face neutral as he turns back.

"Yeah."

"I am sorry that Brian was the one to… deal with you."

Alex's hand squeezes tighter, as Michael's stomach begins to clench. Something isn't right here.

"It wasn't that bad in the end," he says, trying to sound indifferent. "Just a lot of talking."

"_Talking_," Jonathan repeats with a grimace. "Did he have the decency to mention anything about telepathy to you?"

Michael is lost. "He—I think he tested to see if I was when he came in the room?"

"_How_ did he test that?"

"I think he tried to ask me a question in my head?"

A flicker of fury crosses Jonathan's face before he can get it under control. "Right."

"What does _right_ mean?" Michael demands, getting more anxious for the pensive mood around him.

"Brian was testing on himself, with alien DNA, to study whether or not it was possible for _him_ to become telepathic. Do, or did you feel, exhausted to the point of falling asleep after being around him?"

"Well, _yeah._ But, I mean, they put me on some kind of sedative, or something." Michael doesn't want to believe what he is hearing at all.

"They did," Jonathan agrees. "Though knowing Brian as I do, I would imagine his _talking_ to you would have involved further attempts to communicate with you telepathically. It is very draining to be on the receiving end of that."

Oh.

"However," Jonathan says with a pinched smile, "he is not your problem anymore. Or anyone's. He won't be working for us in that capacity ever again."

"Meaning what?" Michael asks, not that he cares too much about what happens to _Brian_.

"He wanted to be tested on," Jonathan says with a shrug, which Michael thinks Brian probably didn't want at _all_. He pictures all kinds of things happening to Brian somewhere and feels slightly sick for it.

"C'mon. Let's go," Alex urges softly, tugging for him to move. It takes him a couple of attempts, Michael looking over his shoulder at Jonathan with no idea what he's supposed to say. Does he expect a thank you?

Slightly dazed, Michael waves to Flint in passing, far too tired to object or think too much more as Alex leads him to their room for the night. "You won't work too late?"

"Not too late."

"Might give you time to talk to Flint."

Flint has been offering Alex cautious smiles, and has tried starting hesitant conversations with them both ever since they got here. Michael hopes if anything comes out of this, it will be an ease of relations between Flint and Alex.

Alex mumbles something noncommital as they enter their room giving it a cursory look around. There are small bottles of shower gel and tubes of toothpaste in the bathroom for which Michael is thankful, glad he doesn't have to go back out to the Airstream for theirs. As Alex uses the bathroom Michael takes a look around the room for himself. The bedding is a red and cream-checkered pattern against a red carpet and cream walls, the furniture similarly colored, and everything made of a solid-looking wood. It is probably the nicest motel they have stayed in so far on this trip, which Alex laughs for when Michael points it out.

"Okay," Alex says, pulling him in by the waist when they've looked their fill. "Get some rest. I'll be up soon."

Michael rests his hands on Alex's chest, wanting to say so many things about the last twenty-four hours, but far too tired to organize his words enough to get them out. Instead, he grabs Alex's hands, kissing over his knuckles. "What did you do to Jonathan?"

Alex's face ripples before he shrugs, only looking mildly contrite. "I thought he'd been the one to get you taken. I thought he'd set us up."

"So you hit him?" Michael asks, wanting to think this is out of character for Alex. Though how can he know what kind of fighting Alex has taken part in over the years in his line of work?

"He didn't answer quick enough. He didn't even defend himself, really," Alex adds, a moment of doubt crossing his face before it drops away again. "I've apologized. Though I would do it over and over again, to anyone, if they did _anything_ to jeopardize your safety, or to hurt you. I would."

Michael knows he would, and hopes that he never has to. He takes Alex's face between his hands to kiss him goodbye, before quickly brushing his teeth, stripping down, and climbing into bed. Michael is asleep in seconds.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The survey for AO3-related things including the title is open for a couple more days; it is [here](https://forms.gle/LiDx7niXMw9aBg6N6) if you want to take part!


	28. Chapter 28

Michael wakes to Alex rutting against him, his fingertips creeping into his boxers. From the hardness digging into him, Michael thinks Alex has been thinking about this for a while. Michael raises a leg to give Alex easier access to him, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pushing down in encouragement. He closes his eyes and hums for the feel of Alex taking him in hand, throwing back the comforter so he can watch. But then he feels what he can only think of as a _giggle_ in his head, stiffening for it before covering Alex's hand with his own.

"We _can't_," Michael hisses, with no idea why he's keeping his voice down; it's not going to _help_. The disgruntled whine from Alex that follows makes him ache for him; Michael quickly turns over to drape his arm across Alex's waist. Despite his _efforts_, Alex still looks half-asleep. Though he is still managing to pout, which Michael thinks is far cuter than it should be.

"Why not?"

"Because. They can all _hear_," Michael says, smiling when Alex nuzzles his face into his pillow with a little huff of disappointment. Michael leans to press a long kiss to his forehead, squeezing at his hip as he does.

"The walls aren't _that_ thin. Oh," Alex says then, lifting his head to look at him; now awake, but still a little blurry-eyed.

"Yeah."

Alex's eyes only get bigger. "_Oh._"

"_Yeah_, Alex," Michael says, laughing, kissing the furrow at his brow. "Good morning."

"Well. It _would_ have been a good morning."

Michael snorts more laughter against him, flattening his hand over Alex's sternum, flexing his fingers over the handprint still prominent there. How long is this thing going to take to fade?

"This is the thanks we get for _saving_ them?"

"I still need to show my appreciation for you rescuing _me_," Michael retorts, though then groans for further _titters_ in his thoughts that don't belong to him. How do these aliens deal with having no privacy from one another all of the time? Surely there has to be a way to shut this telepathy thing off?

At least Alex is smiling, instead of grumbling for them being interrupted. "I suppose we have a good reason to wait."

"It's worth it. For knowing they'll all be okay. Whatever they all end up doing."

"It will," Alex agrees, and as they lie together curling up on their sides, they talk about the aliens currently asleep and waking around them in the motel. They both have ideas on what some of them will want to do from their conversations with them last night. Michael is certain about Soren more than anyone else, convinced they are going to take up some studying or work in catering.

"Did you speak to Flint much last night?" Michael asks when they're through with speculating, both yawning and stretching, and Alex the first to sit up. There are dark circles under his eyes telling Michael he still hasn't caught up on much sleep.

"A little."

"Everything okay?"

"I think so? We haven't really spoken like that in years," Alex says, running his hand down Michael's side before toying with his curls.

"Do you think you'll maybe stay in better contact this time?" Michael asks, because it's what he wants for Alex. Alex deserves to be surrounded by people who care for him. He deserves to have people he can turn to.

Alex licks his lips, squeezing Michael's hand before he yawns and stretches again, before kneeling his way off the bed. "He has my number now. I think we might try?"

It's a good start. Michael watches Alex brace on the room's wall and furniture on his way to the bathroom, rolling on to his back when he's sure he's okay. His thoughts turn to the aliens, the tasks they need to complete today to help them, and then to other _facilities_ that might be scattered across the country.

"Alex. We can't just—we know there could be others out there like that place," he says the moment Alex comes back in, already propped up on one arm waiting for him. "Other places where they're keeping aliens imprisoned, and for nothing at all. Or doing worse; how do we know there aren't any more Caulfields out there, huh?"

Alex sinks down beside him leaning in for a quick kiss before settling on his side. "We don't know. We can't know. But I don't think we can… Michael. I talked to Flint and Jonathan about this last night, for _hours_. It's so _much_. And I don't want to leave anyone wrongly imprisoned, or being hurt, or anything; you know I don't. But I can't risk _you_; I can't go through losing you like that again."

Michael wants to argue. He wants to fight to find all these aliens; with his bare hands if he has to. But he's also afraid. And if he's honest with himself, Michael is _tired_ of this search. Which is something he feels guilty for feeling, only until he's reminded of what almost happened to him—by which point a cold tendril of fear has worked its way through him again. If they hadn't got to him when they had done, who knows what experiments would have been performed on him by now? Would they have been able to manipulate his thoughts to put Isobel and Max at risk as well? Michael doesn't think he can risk it. From the look on Alex's face, he's having similar thoughts—about everything. Though Michael wants to hear him say it out loud. "So, what are you saying?"

Alex closes his eyes, squeezing Michael's hand as he does like he needs to anchor himself to him. "I'm saying, I'm so thankful we got to help _these_ people. I'm glad we're still helping them, and for everything we'll help them achieve today. But maybe we've been on the road long enough. Maybe we… maybe we should think about heading back to Roswell."

It is the obvious thing for Alex to say, and Michael is relieved to know their thoughts are similarly aligned, yet _Roswell_ is also the last place Michael expects to hear about. He doesn't think he's ready for it. "To live?"

"Yes, to live," Alex replies, smiling at him in curiosity. "What did you think I meant?"

There is so much in _Roswell_ that has hurt them. So many potential problems for him and Alex that they've not had to think about while away. Suddenly, Michael is afraid to go back, even if he is already picturing a grill night at Max's with Isobel—and with _Alex_ in tow. Though will Alex even want to be with him like _this_ back there? He doesn't think he can bear a change back to the way they used to be. His heart couldn't take it, not now.

Alex knows what he's thinking. Of course he does; he can _feel_ it. His eyes say sorry as he gives him a smile that is nothing but contrite. He squeezes Michael's hand again, cupping his face in his other to stroke a thumb over his cheek before leaning in for a kiss. "We'll go back. Together. _Be_ together."

He _can't_ doubt them again, yet Michael still argues with himself not to hope too much. But he also can't help it. Michael swallows hard as he tries to control the tremor he knows he'll hear in his own voice when he answers. "Yeah?"

"I don't want to be without you for anything anymore. Really." Alex's smile is as sweet as his words, though it's the sincerity Michael feels flowing through their handprint that lets him breathe a little freer. He lets his head drop forward on to Alex's shoulder, and when that isn't close enough, pulls him in for a tight hug.

* * *

Twenty-three aliens. Twenty-three aliens are now starting their life over, properly, for the first time since they arrived on the planet. They have names, identities, and enough resources thanks to Jonathan to really get started in their lives. Soren, to no surprise to Michael, will be working in a restaurant near the motel; a restaurant that Jonathan must have ties to for how easy it was to get Soren a job. Fifteen others plan to travel, the rest going into study programs, labs, and offices best suited to their expertise. Only one, named Aleena, is undecided in what to do next, opting to help out at the motel for a few days taking their time to think over possible options.

Michael hasn't put much thought into why none of them have even spoken about the possibility of returning to their home planet. Maybe they will one day, or maybe they feel tied to the planet that has in effect kept them prisoner. Maybe they just want to explore this world before considering anything else. Whatever they decide Michael is proud of being part of what has freed them from that _facility_. And while a part of him wishes they could do more, to stick around to help these aliens settle or rescue more who might be being held, Michael thinks it's not so selfish to really want to get on with his _own_ life now. With Alex. And with whatever choices he makes for _himself_, promising his _mom_ and all those aliens he couldn't save that he will live better, for them, because they never got the chance.

"Let's turn off here," Alex says with a squeeze of Michael's thigh, drawing him back from where his mind has been wandering.

Michael sees the road Alex is pointing to and does as asked, though still waits for him to nod again before he is sure he's got it right. He turns to Alex, waiting for an explanation. When he doesn't give him one, Michael squeezes his hand. "Why?"

Alex licks his lips, squeezing back as he smiles. "It's been a busy couple of days."

Busy doesn't even begin to describe it. Though Michael wouldn't take a moment of those days back, for knowing everything they have helped put in place. "Yeah. It has been," Michael agrees, wondering where Alex has spotted for them to be making a detour. They'd said when they left that they would drive until tired, taking a couple of days to make it back to Roswell if they need to. Though by Michael's reckoning they have barely been an hour on the road.

"So. We deserve a night off, right?" Alex gives Michael directions that lead him into a parking lot of a hotel that, even from outside, looks far more luxurious than anything Michael has ever stayed in.

"Really?"

Alex _winks_ at him, which really isn't fair, before climbing out the truck without another word. Michael follows in seconds, snatching their bags up since Alex is crossing the parking lot in determined strides like he's in a hurry to get to their room. Michael rushes to join him.

Picking up their room key is a blur, and the elevator ride filled with tension. Michael's heart begins to race the moment Alex slides the keycard through the lock, the two of them frantic for one another the moment they step into the room. Michael sighs in relief for kissing him, their bags abandoned to the floor. Though then Alex smiles against his mouth, sliding his hands down Michael's upper arms to grip lightly above the elbow and gently nudge him back.

"I want you," Alex says, simple, and honest, and with a self-deprecating shrug. "I know you know that. And we'll _get_ to that. But we have two nights here."

"Two?"

"It was going to be one. But when I realized how late check-in was, I added a second to the booking."

"So _that's_ why we left so late," Michael says, laughing as he grabs Alex by the waist. "You said we would drive until late, park somewhere overnight, and—"

"It's the good kind of lie."

"Oh. I'm not disagreeing with you." Michael distracts Alex from whatever he is about to say with kisses, sighing when he sags against him.

"I just thought. Maybe we deserve—_you_ deserve—a rest. And a little indulgence."

"You don't think you do?" Michael asks, stroking his hands down Alex's sides, tangling their hands together when Alex releases his grip on his arms. Alex only kisses him in answer, tugging on his hand so Michael knows to follow, so they can look around their room.

The bed is wide and deep, with pristine white sheets, pillows, and comforter, and a bright orange throw spread across its base. The orange matches the color of the plush-looking armchair to the foot of the bed, and the color continues again in the framed print on the wall above the headboard; pebbles on a beach with orange tones standing out. The walls themselves are cream, the carpet luxuriously piled and the color of dark chocolate. The wood of the furniture is highly polished walnut; Michael loves the simplicity of it, and wonders what he could do to the Airstream's furniture to make it look similar.

"It's perfect," he says, awed that Alex would even think of taking them to a place like this.

"The restaurant downstairs is supposed to be great. I thought maybe we could eat about seven, or even eight. Or earlier, if you're hungry. But I thought. Maybe we could do this first."

Michael follows again as Alex tugs on his hand, their bathroom just as spacious as the main room. It is a wetroom with a shower in one corner and a low, wide bath in another, the walls covered in small, sea-green tiles. There are towels, toiletries, and when Alex shows him, even foam bath for them to use. This is definitely the most luxury Michael has seen in one place in his life.

"I thought, we have a lot of driving ahead. Maybe we can relax a little first."

Michael watches Alex turn on the tub faucets, lifting up the bottle of foam to inspect. A new kind of excitement makes his stomach flutter, for a gesture that is only simple but Michael realizes he wants, more than anything.

"You wanna take a bath with me, Alex?" he asks, after Alex has put the plug in the bath and poured in what is probably too much foam.

Alex kisses him before nodding, already starting to unbutton Michael's shirt. "Is that okay?"

"Well," Michael says, first letting his gaze fall to Alex's fingers, and then tilting his head to the shelves filled with soft white towels. "Not like I can complain if you use four towels to yourself here, huh? We have enough."

Alex's smile is infectious. Filled with memories they've shared, and new ones they're about to make. Michael goes when guided as Alex continues to undress him, claiming kisses in between.

* * *

"Well. We're back," Michael says pointlessly when they pass the _Welcome To Roswell_ sign, needing to say _something_ for the churning sensation in his stomach. Alex yawns and stretches beside him, pushing himself upright since he's slipped in his seat in his sleep.

"Looks that way."

Michael wishes he didn't feel the need for reassurance, and that he hadn't so quickly forgotten how to _ask_ for it. So he only watches Alex out the corner of his eye as he looks around the familiar view with what he thinks is interest. When Alex throws his head back against the seat and groans, Michael's heart begins to flutter in protest. "What is it?"

"I _forgot_," Alex says with his eyes closed, reaching across the seat to squeeze Michael's thigh.

"Forgot what?"

"The bathroom. At the cabin. I _hate_ it," Alex says as he blinks his eyes open again, and pouts. "I'd forgotten about it; _our_ bathroom is just so much easier to use."

Michael tries and fails to remember what Alex's bathroom looks like, for only having used it a couple of times. "Well. We could adapt it for you? Rails and hand grabs and stuff—good ones. I know you don't like _needing_ the help but—"

"I _need_ it," Alex finishes for him, nudging Michael's hand so he'll take it. "I never bothered before, because I didn't _want_ to need it. And because nothing felt permanent."

"And it does now?"

"Well. Some things."

Michael smiles for the kiss to his shoulder, having to snatch a quick glance at Alex and knowing relief for his easy smile. "So. If I was to look the cabin over, see if we can do some things to make it easier for you there, you wouldn't object?"

"Only if you tried to do them all at once. Like you did with our Airstream."

"Things needed to be done."

"And how quickly are you going to argue that whatever adaptations you put in _need to be done_?" Alex retorts, squeezing his hand.

"Well. Sooner is better, right? Quicker you have everything you need, quicker it feels like home, right? Makes you feel settled?"

Alex rolls his eyes at him when he looks, though it's with what Michael thinks is fond exasperation. Alex turns his attention back to the road, resting his head on Michael's shoulder as he does. "I'm hungry."

Michael nods, resting his head against Alex's briefly. "I could eat." He wants to ask if they should stop somewhere, though can't bring himself to. How long is it going to take for him to stop expecting Alex to pull away from him? What if he does, the moment they're officially back? Is that why he hasn't been able to bring himself to tell Max or Isobel that they're coming back to Roswell?

"I need a grill," Alex says, which isn't high on the list of things Michael expects to hear from him.

"At the cabin?"

"Yes."

"Max has a great grill at his place," Michael says without thinking. Alex snorts against his shoulder as he sits back up.

"So we should just turn up at his house tonight with steaks and a six-pack, and I say _hey, Max. Sorry I made your brother leave town for_—how long have we been gone?"

"I stopped keeping count," Michael tells him. He wants to add that he didn't _make_ him do anything. How could he have stayed anywhere Alex wasn't?

"_But by the way, we're using your grill?_" Alex adds, laughing, nuzzling against his shoulder again.

The thought of just showing up at Max's does strange things to Michael's stomach. He doesn't know if he's ready to see anyone else just yet. "Yeah, maybe not."

"But tomorrow," Alex says, squeezing his hand again. "I don't know; do you think Max and Isobel would want to see us? Well, they'll want to see _you_, obviously. But… maybe if I buy all the acetone in the world as some kind of peace-offering—"

"You don't need any _peace offering_."

"I feel like I do. _Ask_ them," Alex insists, nudging against his shoulder.

"While I'm driving?"

"I want fajitas."

Michael feels like he has whiplash for the subject change. Alex wrinkles up his face in apology, though then gestures at the sign for Walmart. One of so many places in Roswell Michael has never set foot in with Alex for the possibility of running into people they might know.

"Can we pick up some things to make fajitas in there?" Alex says. "Then when we _stop_, you can send a message. Or call, or something. Max and Isobel."

Michael pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine, surprised when Alex looks at him expectantly. He picks up his phone and starts to write in the group chat he has with Isobel and Max, with Alex resting his head back on his shoulder as he does.

"Say hello. And maybe tomorrow, or another day if they're busy, we can go for dinner, or have them over for dinner. Just not tonight; I want you to myself for another night before we see anyone else."

Michael does as asked, still unsettled for not knowing what to expect from Alex. He shouldn't feel like this, not after everything. He trusts and loves Alex; so why is he so afraid?

Alex is thankfully not picking up on his thoughts, the handprint they share having almost faded back to nothing over their two nights in the hotel. Alex kisses him in what feels like a reward when the message is sent, smiling at Michael like he really couldn't be happier. His attention then turns to the store and parking lot, peering out through the windshield as he looks around. "Is it always this busy?"

"I think so. Do you want me to go in for stuff? Or do you want to go in?"

Alex gives him a look that is first curious, and then apologetic. He hooks his finger under Michael's chin to turn his head and kiss him, then climbs out of the truck without another word. Michael watches him as he walks around it, jumping when Alex opens his door for him while laughing. "Are you sitting in there all night?"

Michael glances up at the store again, swallowing with difficulty. "It's just—"

Alex grabs Michael by the shirt as he kisses him, curling his other hand around the back of his neck. He presses a kiss to his forehead before coaxing him from the truck and slamming the door behind him, then backing Michael against it and kissing him hard. Not a polite kiss, and certainly not one that can be mistaken for anything else. Michael can't help smiling for the smug look on Alex's face when he pulls back, clearing his throat and gently gripping Alex by the waist to nudge him back.

"I love you," Alex tells him, sweet, and sincere, and so full of hope that Michael can do nothing but return it. He pushes away from the truck to kiss him again before slotting their hands together, pretending he doesn't need to take the deep breath he does in order to move.

Alex tucks into his side, talking animatedly about everything and nothing as they walk into the store, the clasp around Michael's heart starting to ease as they make their way down the aisles. Though it's when they're picking up more toothpaste and shower gel that the residual fear he feels really starts to fade. Alex lets go of his hand to wander further along the aisle as Michael stops to pick up more razors, absently stroking over his chin.

Arms reach around Michael from behind to go with a kiss to his shoulder blade. Michael looks down at the foaming bubble bath in Alex's hands and leans back against him. They have made some _very_ happy memories these past couple of days involving bath foam and a deep tub. "You have a bath hiding in that cabin, Alex? 'Cos, honestly, I don't remember one."

"No. But I'd _like_ one," Alex tells him with a nuzzle and another kiss.

"We could maybe make it into a wetroom for you? Shower one side, bath the other, one that's easy for you to get in and out of?"

"So long as you _join_ me in the bath when we have it..."

"Deal."

"Good," Alex says, kissing his shoulder again before pulling away to toss the bath foam into their shopping cart. He throws an arm around Michael's waist, nodding for him to steer.

Michael knows he shouldn't feel this elated for buying groceries with Alex, the two of them talking and laughing with the same ease as they have done for most of their trip. But they're here, in Roswell, where anyone they know could see them together; for the first time here, it doesn't matter who's around. Alex looks perfectly at ease, even _pleased_ to be here in his company. For Michael, there isn't anything he wants more than what they have now.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are at the end! Almost.
> 
> Here is a [final survey](https://forms.gle/G4pk2KEqdP1XUQic8) to help shape the epilogue. I'll keep this open for a few days then let you know the results on Tumblr as normal. And then we will be done!
> 
> Thank you for reading along as this thing has come together ❤️


	29. Map

Want to see a rough map of where Alex and Michael have been? Here you go!

* * *


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! We are now at the very end. Trying to wedge _everything_ I want for them into an epilogue was A Challenge but I hope you'll enjoy how it turned out.
> 
> Thanks to Toby for naming our canine companion!
> 
> Thank you for taking part in this story with me, it's been fun! ❤️

Michael needs a _drink_.

Whoever still thinks that climate change isn't happening is, to Michael's mind, a moron. This might be Roswell, and it might very much be the middle of the desert, but he swears he's never experienced this heat. Michael plucks at his shorts using the t-shirt he'd pulled off earlier to wipe over the back of his neck, leaning back to judge if he can open the Airstream windows even wider, which he can't.

With a groan for having to make _effort_ when he's so warm, Michael uses his thoughts to try to push the door open a little further. And when even that won't budge, he tosses his pen and pad to the couch beside him in defeat, marking his page in his textbook with a Post-It for later before standing. Charlie, a two-year-old rescue Beagle who has stolen his heart, is fast asleep in the far corner of the couch oblivious to Michael's complaining.

"How can you sleep when it's like this, huh?" Michael calls, exasperated by the one thump of a tail that says Charlie is actually listening but just doesn't want to move. "I bet you'd feel better after a real cold bath, right, Charlie?"

Charlie raises his head, stares at Michael in reproach, then drops his head back down with a put-upon sigh. It's funny really that this corner of the couch Charlie has claimed as _his_ is the same corner he's claimed in _Isobel's_ Airstream—_Michael's_ old Airstream that he'd done up for then gifted to her as a thank you for her loan of money when he'd been on the road.

As he stretches, Michael looks the Airstream over, caught for a moment in happy memories shared here with Alex. He smiles as he remembers dancing in this very spot with Alex, how his heart had raced for being able to hold him for the first time in weeks. A year later, Michael still gets that fluttery feeling when he pulls Alex into his arms—though only for dancing. For everything else, it is as easy as breathing, a soothing of nerves whenever one of them has been away from home. Not that they're apart from one another for more than a few hours at a time these days, with them living together. It's just that everything feels better to Michael when Alex is around.

Standing here daydreaming, however, is not going to get anything done. Michael throws his shirt over his shoulder then gathers up his things from studying, giving the Airstream a once-over before stepping out. Charlie grumbles as he jumps down from the couch to follow him, thudding down the steps then charging towards the cabin. How can he run so fast with so much fur in this _heat_?

In the kitchen, Michael straightens up the latest addition of magnet to the fridge door before opening it, dragging out the jug of lemonade he'd made this morning just after Alex headed out. He tweaks the magnet again, tilting his head as he smiles at the thing; a bright green alien wearing a cowboy hat that _Flint_ of all people gave them. Michael is amused that now everyone knows he is sort-of collecting them, new additions of fridge magnet appear pretty much every time someone comes to their home.

Michael pours himself a glass of lemonade, taking his books through to the living room and sprawling out on the couch, allowing himself ten minutes of rest before he starts studying again. He's at the scrapyard tomorrow, so he needs to get at least this chapter worked through today. When Fridays are his final day of his three day work week at Sander's scrapyard, the mornings are always extra busy, so there will be no time to cram any study in. Thankfully his study program is mostly online, and he can get pretty much everything done that he needs to on the days he dedicates to studying. He's been to classes at UNM exactly twice and hated it for how _old_ he felt around the other students. Though he doesn't have any reason to be there for at least another month, so Michael pushes even the thought of it away as he sits back up for knowing if he doesn't, he'll probably fall asleep.

Alex's notepad is on the coffee table. Nothing in there is secret, though Michael still hesitates before picking it up for always wanting to give Alex his privacy—even if Michael has returned from a shower on more than one occasion to find Alex going through _his_ study notes, leaving him sweet messages in their margins and annotating his work with messages of how proud of him he is. Michael breaks into a smile for the _doodles_ on Alex's pad: some stick figures wearing what he thinks are cowboy hats; a half-finished grocery list that they forgot and bought double of just last night; some geometric design Michael thinks he must have drawn while stuck on a call with Corazon. There are several half-started song lyrics as well, and even _his_ name in a heart which makes Michael's cheeks hurt for seeing. He runs his thumb over to feel the dent of pen in the page, then slides the pad back on to the table, squaring it at the corner.

A stack of magazines under the coffee table catches his eye then, from a subscription which was one of Michael's Christmas presents from Alex last year. Michael has been through every page, and now he remembers, will be driving them out to the group home along with some other things tomorrow once he's finished work. Not with Charlie this time, though. Alex is working from home tomorrow and Michael would far rather Charlie keep _him_ company, for remembering how Charlie had yelped when one of the kids had got over-excited and tugged on his ear.

Charlie wanders through then, humphing as he climbs on to the couch beside Michael, thudding his head against Michael's thigh.

"I'm not working then?" Michael asks as he plays with his ears, shifting just enough to get more comfortable. It won't hurt to let his head fall back just for five minutes.

* * *

Soft woofing wakes Michael, his ear training in on the click of excited claws clattering around the kitchen, and Alex's soft words for Charlie as he says hello. Michael yawns, pinching over his eyes before standing, stretching and yawning before he walks through to join them. Alex's gaze falls to his bare chest, straightening up from petting Charlie with a widening smile.

"It's warm today," he says as he slides his ever-present laptop bag up over his head to lean on a kitchen counter, plucking at the bottom of his t-shirt and fanning himself with it.

"It is. How are you still wearing jeans?" Not that Alex doesn't look really, _really_ good in the jeans he is wearing. That, coupled with his hair a good couple of inches longer than he used to wear it while still in the Air Force, and the stubble that has been a permanent fixture on his chin for weeks, who could blame Michael for standing there in their kitchen with a smirk on his face as he enjoys the view?

Alex saunters towards him, looking unfairly cool compared to how sticky Michael feels. Alex's fingers walk up his chest making Michael stumble forward, claiming a kiss that Alex hums into as he holds him by the waist. "Hi."

"Hi."

"I'm wearing _jeans_, because I didn't think it was going to be this hot. And because I'm pretty sure the hospital cafeteria is an actual icebox. It's like a whole other climate system in there."

"You want something to drink?" Michael asks as he squeezes his hip, tacking on an, "is Kyle okay?" before he forgets. Kyle has been good to Alex—he's been good to them both. The resentment Michael used to feel for him is long gone, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to rile him up every chance he gets. Kyle _likes_ it, Michael is sure, for the easy way he gives just as much shit back.

"Working a double," Alex says with a grimace, gulping back the glass of lemonade Michael pours. "He gets off at ten tomorrow morning. I think he's going home to sleep for a couple of hours then coming straight here in case we need things setting up."

"He'll be exhausted. We should be fine, right? It's not like we're cooking everything in advance, or anything?"

Tomorrow they are hosting a grill night. It's going to be a full cabin, especially since Flint is driving over from Texas, and even Joe is hoping to stop by on his way back to Montana. Alex and Michael's _road trip_ apparently inspired him to do the same. Joe is currently somewhere in Mexico according to his last message to the group chat he has with Michael and Alex.

"We have everything we need," Michael adds as he goes through a mental checklist of things they need to do. "We can make up the spare bed today, and leave the spare bedding for the couch in there so Flint and Joe can fight over it."

"If Kyle stays—which I think he might—I guess one of them could stay in the Airstream? Or Joe might stay in his?"

"Or we could put Kyle in the _bunker_," Michael teases, even though there is no room. Their bunker beneath the cabin is now home to a small gym they've put together for Alex—which Michael has created far easier access to—and Michael's _experiments_ on the console of his ship; not that he's going anywhere now.

"Or we could put _Flint_ in the bunker," Alex says as he drapes his arms over Michael's shoulders, stretching against him with a slight yawn.

"Hey. If I have to referee anyone arguing, I'm volunteering to lock _myself_ down there."

"Fine. I'll behave," Alex says pretending to pout before claiming a kiss, letting his fingers trail down Michael's chest as he pulls away. Alex and Flint's relationship has improved since he'd shown up outside their Airstream in Minnesota, with Flint since coming to visit them twice, and Alex even driving out to his base in Texas a couple of times. Flint hasn't mentioned going back to Germany again; Michael thinks he wants to stay close to Alex to have at least some family around. Alex knows this and is _comforted_ by this, but is yet to say as much out loud.

"You get any work done after lunch?" Michael asks as Alex inspects the freezer, pulling out an iced orange lolly for them both. Alex's visits to see Kyle on his lunch breaks have increased in number since he discovered a cafe he likes to work in close to the hospital. Though Michael also knows that after these lunch breaks, which mostly involve Alex and Kyle _gossiping_, Alex typically loses any motivation to work.

"I worked for maybe an hour? Then I went to see Liz in her lab."

"That how you spending all your days now, Alex?" Michael teases taking both their wrappers to put in the trash.

"What?"

"Visiting your friends at work, rubbing it in that you can work wherever the hell you want?"

Alex's smile is smug as he sucks on his lolly in a way that is purposefully provocative and leaves Michael clearing his throat in distraction. "Obviously. And if you'd been at the scrapyard today, it would have been three for three."

Alex is right. Michael often looks up from fixing a car to catch Alex standing there watching him, or to the sound of woofing when Alex drops something off for lunch with Charlie in tow. Michael is convinced half of Alex's workday is spent going between the lab, hospital, and scrapyard instead of doing any work of his own. Though there are also days when Michael has to track Alex down in one of his cafes and drag him home for working too much.

"Oh. I got an email from Jonathan today," Alex tells him then, fighting with a droplet of juice running down his lolly stick on to his wrist.

"Everyone okay?"

"They are. Everyone's doing great. Do you remember Flynn and Georgie?"

Michael thinks of the two aliens who had accompanied him and Soren to Target when they were in Evanston, and nods.

"They both decided they wanted to teach high school. Math, and chemistry. Jonathan is arranging for them to get on to a study program."

"High school?" Michael repeats in surprise, even though it's something he's toyed with the idea of himself. He has a long way to go with studying before he can put any plans for a career in place, but now that he _is_ studying, it feels like entire worlds are opening up for him.

"Apparently so," Alex agrees, still fighting with his lolly, dropping a chunk of it that Charlie laps up before it even has the chance to make a puddle on the floor. "So. Are you too warm to take a bath with me?"

Over their year of living together, Michael and Alex have transformed the cabin into a cozy home. There are handrails and other supports around every room for ease of access for Alex, and an easy to maintain yard that they have done surprisingly well with considering the climate. The cabin has been extended enough to make their bedroom bigger, and to create enough space for a spare room for their occasional guests. They have ample storage space, and touches of them both as individuals and together have interwoven to make the cabin truly _theirs_. The Airstream is where they go to study or work when they need to force themselves to concentrate, its bathroom suite now replaced to make even better use of the tiny space there. Their home is _perfect_, with enough space for them individually, and places to be together, to suit all their needs.

Though it is the bathroom that Michael is most proud of their efforts in, and the room that Alex loves the most. The bathroom is a wetroom with a shower to one corner and a wide, deep, though accessible bath against the opposite wall—just as Michael had been picturing for Alex when they had first arrived back in Roswell. Alex's face the first time he sank into the bath was so joyful that Michael could have cried where he stood leaning in the doorway watching him. Though obviously he didn't, for Alex demanding that he join him. Michael _loves_ that bath and the memories they've made there almost as much as Alex does.

"I could go for a bath," Michael says, going back to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of white wine that is Isobel's favorite, meant to be for tomorrow night. As busy as his morning will be, Michael doesn't think he will have a full day at work tomorrow, and even with stopping off at the group home for an hour he'll have time to pick up more. He takes two glasses from an overhead cupboard and slots their stems between his fingers, eyes on Alex as he begins to strip on their way through the cabin.

* * *

"So when are you setting off in that thing again?"

Michael flips the burger Kyle is waiting for, refusing to bristle for his choice of words. Kyle _knows_ how much he resents the Airstream being called a _thing_, and Michael is not biting. "Couple of months? I got some kind of assessment thing I need to do at UNM, then we're free to go."

They've taken so many trips in the Airstream already, Sanders always flexible with Michael's days so long as he works his three. Michael's favorite trips are when they stop by the coast. They might get a weekend away in soon, but in three months Michael and Alex are planning a longer trip to explore South America, both of them having travel envy after all the photos Joe has been sending them from the road. They've been practicing their Spanish for the trip together, which so far hasn't been all that successful. Neither of them seems to deal very well with the other speaking another language, every attempt ending in the removal of clothes. Michael tries not to dwell on the thought for too long for being in company, though does let his gaze drift to Alex across the yard with Flint and some friends—friends that Alex knew from when they were in high school and who Michael has got to know, despite still thinking of them as Alex's.

Their yard is full of people they know and love. Joe is currently charming Isobel judging by the way she is twirling her hair and laughing at everything he says—and how Max is pulling a face like he can _feel_ what she's thinking. Liz has decided to make her own dance party, taking over their music system and dancing with a group of people who are also friends from high school, as well as others Michael and Alex have gotten to know over the year they've been together. They have so much love in their world now, so many people they can turn to for anything. Michael would have never imagined having a life like this, but oh is he glad he gets to have it.

"Might try it out tonight myself," Kyle says then, and it takes Michael a moment to realize he means the Airstream. He flips the burger over again to check it's done then gestures for Kyle's plate, sliding the burger over for him to do whatever he wants with. Kyle's idea of _garnish_ for burgers really sometimes turns Michael's stomach.

"Well. You know where everything is."

Kyle is _well_ aware of where things are in the Airstream, for forever nosying around it and making himself at home. Some nights if Michael has been working late or been out somewhere, he's driven up to the cabin to find lights on in the Airstream, with Alex and Kyle sat inside nursing beers over mumbled words. Michael knows those nights, knows it's how Kyle has started to deal with difficult days at the hospital. He's learned to judge whether their _banter_ is appropriate for those moments or not from the level of concern on Alex's face.

Kyle raises his beer bottle in thanks for his burger then moves to the table beside them, making Michael grimace as he starts loading up his burger with all kinds of terrible things and grinning at him for it.

"You're just _wrong_, Valenti. So wrong."

Kyle takes a huge bite of the offensive burger and makes obnoxious noises around it that Michael pretends to gag for hearing.

"Michael. You're not dancing."

Michael _oofs_ for the sudden tug on his arm by Liz, who has dragged up everyone to dance so far at least twice. Michael stumbles to right himself as he's pulled across the yard, Flint laughing as he passes, grabbing the tongs Michael still has in his hand.

"I'll take over the grill."

From their impromptu dance floor, Michael sneaks another look around, watching Alex pat one of his friends on the arm before walking across the yard to join Flint. When Michael looks again, their heads are bowed over the grill in deep discussion over what Michael _thinks_ from this distance is sausage. His smile is helpless when Alex then throws his head back laughing, while whacking an equally hard smiling Flint on the arm. Michael does _not_ want to know what's been said for the way Alex is blushing, but loves to see the ease between the brothers. Michael _does_ catch Alex's eye when Alex sneakily feeds Charlie a bit of sausage, winking back at him when Alex gives a gesture that says _I am helpless to those sad eyes_ while waving at Charlie.

"Hey. Concentrate," Liz says in reprimand, calling Michael's attention back to their dancing. Though Liz doesn't really need anyone with her to dance, her arms extended high above her head with her eyes closed, still moving in perfect time to the music as she sings out loud. Michael sneaks a peek at Max who is still stood with Joe and Isobel, for knowing how _adorable_ he will think Liz's antics are.

The song changes, making Liz yell in demand for _everyone_ to join them, charging across the yard to grab Max by the wrist when he pretends to make his escape. The air is soon filled with a mix of raucous laughter and music, with even Charlie gently woofing to join in as Liz turns the music up in passing. It is a beautiful night, the perfect end to what has been a busy week for Michael and Alex.

"How are you all dancing—and _eating_—in this _heat_?" Cam says then getting Michael's attention as she bumps his arm in greeting for having come straight from work. That she says this having snagged the sausage Flint and Alex had been _giggling_ over at the grill in passing only endears her to Michael.

Cam has become a sometimes-fixture in their home, with her, Alex, and Kyle forming an odd friendship around Alex and Cam's attempts to make Kyle watch every sci-fi movie and TV show they can. She is a good friend for Alex, sharing stories of serving and understanding parts of Alex's life that no one else can really reach. Michael will forever be thankful to her for that.

Cam has also taken to stealing Michael's textbooks when she visits and quizzing him, though she always gets distracted by being far too engrossed in reading what is on the page. He sometimes leaves random Post-Its with snarky comments stuck in books when he knows she is coming over, that she usually balls up and throws in his face. Michael likes Cam a _lot_.

"I have _no_ idea," Michael replies, then gestures at the cabin and for seeing her still in uniform, adds, "go change if you want."

"I will. Just wanted to say hi."

Michael watches her walk back across the yard passing with a mock salute for Max, and a pat on the head for Charlie, who loyally follows her into the cabin. With his eyes on the sausage she is eating the entire time, of course.

"You doing okay?"

Michael smiles for the kiss to his shoulder, lifting his arms for Alex to wrap around him from behind. He slots his fingers through Alex's across his stomach and adjusts how he's dancing, forever mindful of his leg. "I'm doing great. You?"

"This was a great idea," Alex says, slipping from Michael's grip to give him a look that says, _don't_ _worry_. Alex leans in to steal a quick kiss, and then another, before spluttering with laughter as Liz decides it is his turn to dance with her. Michael waves them off, though not moving far for Isobel appearing suddenly behind him and looping her arm around his waist.

"You know how to throw a party," she says, which is, of course, the highest praise possible. Michael throws an arm across her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Well. Maybe I learned something when you used to _talk_ at me all the time about all these events you plan."

"Oh, please. You _love_ hearing about my work."

"I really do."

"And you're _really_ good at folding all those napkins up into shapes," Isobel adds, telling Michael with a single glance what he and Alex will be doing before dinner at hers on Sunday. She has a wedding she is organizing for Tuesday that Michael has now heard the details of three times. Napkin folding must be one of the few things left to check off on her list. Though Michael knows all of this involvement in wedding preparations is just yet another round of hints she is dropping on him and Alex, which is hilarious to watch when she corners Alex. He can out-sass her for so many things, and is generally who Isobel sits next to when they go out to dinner with her and Max so they can ruthlessly people-watch together. But the moment she starts pouting and making puppy eye demands, Alex is helpless, looking at Michael wide-eyed for help.

Michael is just as helpless when it comes to giving Isobel what she wants, so is of no help in these situations. He and Alex started wearing matching rings not long after they got back to Roswell, and ever since Isobel has been pleading with them to let her throw them a _proper_ wedding. Michael doesn't honestly know how either of them hasn't already caved.

Later, when most of their guests are gone, Flint is sprawled out across the couch fast asleep and Joe has already gone to bed—and Kyle to the Airstream—Michael puts the last of the freshly washed and dried glasses back in the cupboard, shutting its door with his thoughts. Alex is humming to himself as he puts a fresh bag in the trash can, his hips swaying gently in time to the low music playing on the radio they keep in their kitchen. And when Michael peeks into the living room he sees that Charlie has claimed Flint, using him as a bed. Everything is peaceful in their world; just as it should be.

"You know. Kyle was asking about our next trip," Michael says as he turns back snagging his fingers through Alex's, pulling him softly to him so that they can dance.

"In the Airstream?" Alex asks as he drapes his arms over Michael's shoulders, leaning so their stomachs are pressed together.

"Yeah."

"We could drive down the coast. Go as far as we want to, then take our time to drive back. Or the other way around?"

"So long as we see lots of beaches, Alex, either works for me."

Alex smiles, nodding in agreement. "For as happy as you always look when we're by the sea, we could just drive all the way around the coast and back, if you want."

"This trip's not just about me," Michael says, even if he is already picturing endless stretches of days with the coast always in their eyeline, made perfect for Alex being by his side.

"Well. It _could_ be," Alex tells him. "And I would enjoy it all anyway. But I'd enjoy it all the more for seeing _you_ so happy."

Michael kisses him because he has to, overwhelmed with how much he is loved. He'd put his handprint on Alex last night when they'd gone to bed, Alex sinking into him so Michael could feel his love in every possible way. Their love, more than a decade in the making, the only home Michael has ever truly known.

"Do you want to sleep?" Michael asks softly after a while, for anything else feeling too loud.

Alex shakes his head, licking his lips before he kisses him, making Michael's heart surge when he smiles. "Not yet."

To the music playing low on the radio, Michael and Alex continue to turn in a small circle. Dancing in their kitchen, just because they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for taking part in this story; all the people who DM'ed me when I got stuck, everyone who has supported me along the way, all you lovely survey participants. I feel like I got to know some of you a little better through doing this and that is always part of the fun of doing these for me. So, thank you for being a part of it!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Now this one is put to bed and Alex and Michael are living out this particular HEA, just to let you know I have two WIPs for Malex. One is in very early stages, one is about halfway through. Both are potentially angsty as hell in places, **but**, it's the kind of angst that is external from them, that they face head on together and are stronger for. There will be random updates on progress on [Tumblr](https://mansikkaomenabanaani.tumblr.com/) if you want to take a peek!


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